Soulless
by Whisper292
Summary: Amelia DesJardin thinks she is experienced, having spent the last few years adventuring and working as a mercenary and thief. She has always believed there is no good or evil, only choices; but all that changes when she is dragged from her bedroll and sacrificed to Molag Bal. How far will she go to save Tamriel and get her soul back?
1. Soulless 1 - Death and Life

Soulless One

Death and Life

Abject terror. That was the first and last thing she remembered. She had been taken out of her bedroll by several masked thugs and rendered unconscious with some kind of spell. When she awoke, she was bound on an altar and a high elf was standing over with a blade, chanting. She didn't even have time to scream before the blade came down and pierced her heart. One single moment of mind-blowing pain, and she felt nothing else.

Now, as Amelia DesJardin opened her eyes, wondered why she wasn't still feeling that pain. She was certain the blade had pierced her heart. But here she lay, cold but alive, in a dank room filled with bluish light. A bowl with some radishes and a cup of water sat on the floor next to her, but she didn't bother with it. Instead, she got up and looked around. There were several bedrolls, some of which had skeletons lying on them, a small campfire, and evidence that someone had been eating and drinking; but she was alone. The jagged bars on the door indicated that she was in a cell. So she was a prisoner, but that didn't bother her much. She had broken out of jail before. At least she wasn't dead.

Or was she? Whatever was going on, she didn't feel right. She wasn't in any pain, but something was . . . well, it was _off._ The terror was gone, replaced by a kind of numbness and confusion, but that was nearly as bad as the fear.

"How do you feel?" came a voice.

Amelia looked around the cell again and out the door, but no one was around. There was shouting outside the cell, but nobody close enough for such a soft voice.

Suddenly, a ghostly figure appeared before her, and she gasped with shock. "Holy—"

"Careful, now. You've been through a terrible ordeal."

"You have no idea. Who are you? Are you a ghost?"

"No, just a projection. I'm a prisoner like you, but so much more. I am the past and the future, despair and hope. The tapestry we weave is complex; you cannot hope to see the whole pattern. Not yet."

"Um, okay. So do you know how to get out of this place?"

"Someone will open your door. Then you must take up arms and protect yourself. Find Lyris Titanborn. Together, you will rescue me. And I, you."

"I am so confused."

"All will be made clear in time. Our destinies are linked; that is all you need know at this moment. Someone comes. Quickly, make your escape."

An Argonian came up and unlocked the cell door. "We're getting out of here. Come on!"

Amelia opened the door and ran out into the common area, then down a wide hallway among a dozen other prisoners, still not knowing where she was or where she would escape to. The halls were cavernous, marked by skeletons hanging from the stone walls and constructs set into the high ceilings, and tall banners with stylized faces on them. Her ghostly companion spoke inside her head, urging her to run faster. He said weapons were in one of the next rooms and bade her again to arm herself. When she found the room with the weapons, she picked up a sword and a shield and ran on with the others.

"An enemy blocks your path," said the voice. "Strike it down!"

A skeleton ran at her, wielding a sword, but she was ready for it. How could she not be alert for danger in a place like this? And she could handle herself. She blocked its blows with her shield and swung the blade. It dodged out of the way twice, but her third strike hit it across the shoulders, and it crumbled into a pile of bones.

"Quickly now!" the voice urged her. "Do not slow, Vestige!"

Amelia didn't have to be told twice. In fact, she didn't have to be told at all. She wasn't about to stand still in this horrible place.

A woman approached her, running from the other direction. She was dressed in green rags like Amelia's, and she was obviously a Nord, her features strong and fair and her height enormous. She was at least a foot taller than Amelia. "Whoa, there," she said, "are you okay? I heard fighting."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Does look like you've got some fight left in you. You haven't been here long."

"No, I . . . I just woke up a few minutes ago. I'm still not sure what's going on."

"Well, I can help. The name's Lyris."

"Really? Lyris Titanborn? I was told to find you."

"What? Who told you to find me?"

"This is going to sound weird, but a strange, ghostly figure in my cell told me. An old man in rags."

"The Prophet!" Lyris gasped. "He spoke to you? Amazing. It was very dangerous for him to speak to you like that. He must think you can help. What did he say?"

"He said our fates were linked. He's still talking in my head, said something about us rescuing each other."

"Then, that's what we'll do. Let's go."

Amelia followed Lyris through the prison and out a door, but the outside was just as unpleasant as the indoors. It was freezing, and a stormy sky sent snowflakes floating down. Chaos was everywhere, with some prisoners running down the hill and others just standing in place, collared and looking half-dead. "What now?" she asked.

"We need to disrupt the sentinels."

"What are the sentinels?"

"Magical constructs created by Molag Bal to guide his vision in Coldharbour."

"Coldharbour! We're in _Coldharbour?"_

"You didn't know? Then I have bad news for you. Aye, you're in Coldharbour, and you're dead."

She had wondered, but hearing it out loud was like getting hit with a ton of bricks. "So he did stab me in the heart," she said shakily.

"That was Mannimarco. He sacrificed you to Molag Bal and took your soul."

"My _soul?_ Then what in Oblivion am I? I'm not alive, but I'm conscious. Am I a ghost? And if I don't have a soul, how am I even a ghost?"

"I wish I could answer that, but I'm afraid I don't know. What I do know is that we need to get moving. The sentinels are at the top of that hill."

"Fine," Amelia said with a sigh, although she had no idea where her breath came from. She followed Lyris across a field to a river, where they had to fight a flame atronach. This wasn't like any flame atronach she had ever seen; it was blue. But it died just as easily and exploded just the same, although she didn't feel any pain from the heat.

"Well played," said Lyris. "At least you're good in a fight."

"Yes, I've been adventuring for a few years."

"You look very young. How old are you, Vestige?"

"Older than I look. I'm twenty-five."

"Where were you when you were taken?"

"Stormhaven, near an Aleyid ruin. Somehow I think I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I'm not so sure about that."

Although she didn't agree with Lyris, Amelia could comprehend how the Nord might think this wasn't just coincidence. She had seen enough crazy, inexplicable things in the last few years to understand prophecy and fate—or at least the concept of such things. "How do we destroy the sentinels?"

"I have no idea. Brute force?"

She followed Lyris up the hill to find a large eyeball floating between the prongs of a giant sconce. It peered at them for a moment but then turned and looked at something else. High Rock was riddled with magic and frightening monsters, and Amelia didn't scare easily. Besides, after everything else that had happened today, a large floating eye just didn't instill much terror.

"Let's try this." She jabbed her sword in the eye, and with a scream, the structure collapsed.

"Good!" said Lyris. "While he's blinded, let's get to the Prophet's cell."

"The Lord of Brutality knows of your escape," said the Prophet's voice in her head.

The two women ran back down the hill, across the frigid river, and up another hill do a door, which was warded.

"Damn!" said Lyris. "Destroying the sentinel must have triggered the barrier. We'll have to find another way in. I wonder if Cadwell can help us."

"Cadwell?"

"He's the oldest of the Soul Shriven, and he knows Coldharbour better than anyone."

"Is that what I am? Soul Shriven?"

"Aye."

"What about you? You seem different than the others running around here."

"No, I'm alive, with my soul intact. I was brought here as well, but . . . well, that's a tale for another time."

They went down the river a ways and found a Soul Shriven sitting at a campfire with an iron pot on his head. He was playing the lute and singing off key. Several Soul Shriven stood around listening to his song.

"Hello!" he greeted them warmly. "What's this? Out for a stroll, then? Lovely day for it."

"Are you Cadwell?"

"_Sir _Cadwell, yes. And you are?"

"Amelia DesJardin."

"What a lovely name! Ah, and fair Lyris! Good to see you, dear!"

Oh, gods, this guy was as mad as Sheogorath's earlobes. Then again, people dealt with things in their own way, didn't they? Maybe madness was the best way to survive in Coldharbour. "I hear you might be able to help us," said Amelia. "We're trying to get to the Prophet's enclosure, but the door is sealed."

"Oh, dear, that's unfortunate. I do happen to know another way in. It's a rather exciting jaunt, rife with atronachs, feral Soul Shriven, and dozens of traps."

"How do we get through all that?"

"Rather cautiously, I'd expect."

Amelia couldn't suppress a chuckle. She liked most everybody until they gave her a reason not to, but she decided this Cadwell was absolutely adorable—for an insane, emaciated, undead spirit, anyway.

"From here, you'll want to follow the river, and after a while you'll see the entrance to the Undercroft. Once you're there, the path should take you right to him. Watch your step, hold your noise, and do mind the traps."

"Thank you, Sir Cadwell. Do you think we have a chance?"

"Lyris seems to think the Prophet knows a path back to Tamriel, but I rather think if one existed, I'd have found it by now. Truth is, I've been in Coldharbour so long, the place feels like home. Still, a good uprising now and again is a pleasant diversion, don't you think? Best of luck! If you don't make it out, do check in now and again, won't you?"

Amelia and Lyris followed the river downstream, fighting a few flame atronachs along the way. Lyris was a good fighter, and though she didn't think she was in any real danger of dying here, being already dead and all, she was glad to have the big Nord at her side. They finally found an iron door just up the bank. The tunnels inside didn't look all that different from the terrain outside, except for the occasional spike trap. They waded through icy water and fought several feral Soul Shriven, poor souls who had been in Coldharbour so long, they had lost all sense of self. Amelia hated cutting them down, but there was nothing for it. They would surely do the same to her.

They finally came to a dead end and a ladder, which led up to the main structure. After navigating a few halls and a couple of doorways, they found the chamber where the Prophet was being held. He was suspended in midair inside a floating cube that was held in place by two very big soul gems electrifying a larger one above it. Lyris stood at a pedestal before the construct.

"All right," she said, "the good news is we made it here in one piece and the Prophet looks relatively unharmed. The bad news is it's going to be up to you to keep him safe and get him back to Tamriel. I'm not going with you."

"What? Where are you going?"

"The only way for a prisoner to leave is if another living soul takes their place. I'm going to trade places with the Prophet."

"Lyris, no! There must be another way."

"Believe me, I wish there was, but there's no one else, and Molag Bal needs to be stopped."

This couldn't be happening. Lyris was going to sacrifice herself to free the Prophet. There had to be a way to save her; Amelia couldn't accept this. "I can't just leave you here."

"There's nothing for it, Vestige."

"I hate this."

"I know. But this is what needs to be done."

"All right," she agreed reluctantly. "Let's just get it done."

"There are locking devices on either side of the cage. You need to disable them so I can initiate the transfer. The Prophet will know where to go once it's done, but he'll need you to be his eyes."

"Good luck, Lyris," she said, placing a hand on the Nord's shoulder.

"You too, Vestige."

Amelia went to the first gem, which sent blue light to the one over the cage. It was a simple matter to knock it off balance, causing a break in the beam. She did the same with the second gem, and the cage creaked and groaned as if it were going to come apart.

"I give myself so that the Prophet might be free!" Lyris cried. Her body rose in the air, surrounded by blue light. She disappeared with a flash and the Prophet stood in her place, an old, blind man with a walking stick. Lyris's screams chilled Amelia to the bone.

"Oh, gods," she moaned softly.

"Thank the Divines you're safe; there's that, at least."

"Is there no way to save Lyris?"

"None, I'm afraid. But I promise you, Vestige, once we escape, we'll find a way to rescue her together."

"Why do you guys keep calling me Vestige?"

"Because you are a shell of your former self. Soulless, an empty vessel, longing to be filled."

"Sounds so cheery," she said dryly.

"It is as the Scrolls foretold, although not exactly as I imagined."

"I hadn't imagined it, either, believe me. The Scrolls?"

"The Elder Scrolls. They prophesied your coming."

"_My_ coming? You're saying it _wasn't_ chance that caused me to be sacrificed? I think there has been some mistake."

"No, Vestige. This is the truth."

One thing about escaping with Lyris, she had known what needed to be done: fight and run. But the Prophet was telling her things she couldn't—or didn't want to—get her mind around. "So is that why Lyris called you a Prophet?"

"That is what I have come to be called. My true name is lost, even to me. Quickly now, we must make haste to the anchor."

"Anchor?"

"Daedric machines of the darkest magic. Their chains bind our world and pull it toward Coldharbour."

"Can we break them?"

"It is my hope that we can, over time. For now, one of them will return us to Tamriel."

"Let's go, then."

He held onto her arm, and she made her way through the hall and out a door at the rear. The corridor led to another large chamber. More machines were placed around the room, gears of some kind, and dominating the center was a humongous ring suspended over a circular platform, from which a flight of stairs ascended. Two smaller rings hung above the large one, and the one on top glowed with cold, white light. Lightning crackled within the ring.

As they entered the chamber, two skeletons rose up from the platform and attacked. The Prophet shot a spell at one of them, but Amelia didn't notice what it was exactly because she was engaging the other. She took a couple of jarring blows before dropping the skeleton, but before she could sigh with relief, a figure emerged from a pit behind the stairs that was so monstrous, so horrible, so uncompromisingly _evil_, that all she could do was scream.

Flames poured from the enormous blue-black creature, who laughed at her terror. "I am the face of pain," he said, and with that, Amelia realized she was staring at none other than Molag Bal himself. She screamed again, and he laughed more. "Scream, child, yes. The souls of the damned are my weapons, and you will know eons of suffering."

He sank back into the pit, and a humongous atronach appeared on the platform before them. The thing looked like it had been constructed from several skeletons. But Amelia couldn't move.

"Vestige, get ahold of yourself! I will heal you, but you must defeat this creature!"

With that, Amelia shook her head to clear it and advanced on the monster. She hacked away at it while it jabbed and swiped at her, but for every painful strike—and she did feel pain this time—she felt the warmth of the Prophet's healing magic. When every swing of her sword, she came back into herself a little. Fighting was familiar, something she was comfortable with, even against this walking pile of bones. In the end, it didn't take all that long to kill it.

"By the Eight," she breathed when it was done.

"Well done, Vestige."

"I do have a name, you know."

"I mean no insult by this name, I assure you. It is your title, your badge of honor."

"A shell of my former self? That's not honor."

"Oh, but it is. Now. I will prepare a spell to lift us to the anchor above us; but first, you must re-attune yourself to Nirn in order to regain your physical form. You will need a Skyshard."

"I've seen those before in my travels, but I never understood how they worked so I stayed away from them."

"They're shards of Aetherial magicka that carry the essence of Nirn. If you absorb its magic, it should restore your corporeal form. If you run into them in Tamriel, I recommend absorbing them as well. They confer a great amount of power."

"I'll keep that in mind. But there isn't one here."

"I will summon one for you to absorb." He raised his hands and called, "Shard of Aetherius, fall upon us now and anoint us with your blessing." With a flash of white light, a multifaceted stone bigger than her head appeared before them, a beam shining straight up. "There, quickly. Collect the Skyshard."

Amelia reached out and touched the shard, and she was caught up in a gust of warm air and light as a power like none she'd ever experienced flooded through her. The tension built until the light exploded all around her and caused a massive head rush. She also felt her body more strongly, as if it were suddenly there. Her heart began to beat, and her breath came back in a heavy gasp. "Whoa!" she cried.

"Great Akatosh, Dragon God of Time!" the Prophet prayed. "Your children are lost in the fog between worlds, and they cry out for mercy. Let the way be opened so that these wandering souls can return home. Let the will of Molag Bal be denied!"

Blue light filled the space at the top of the stairs and into the portal above. "Quickly, Vestige. Into the portal."

Amelia took a deep breath and dashed up the stairs. Stopping only for a moment to think, _this is insane_, she closed her eyes and jumped. And she fell _up_. For a fleeting moment, unbearable pain shot through her extremities and her heart felt as if it would burst. Then all was black.

She opened her eyes in her own bed, wearing a nightgown, and for a moment she thought it had all just been a terrible dream. But then she noticed the Prophet, incorporeal again, standing in in the corner. She sat up and peered at him through bleary eyes.

"The Vestige awakens once again. As I feared, we arrived in different locations. But worry not. We will find each other when the time is right. There is much we need to accomplish."

"How long was I unconscious?"

"I do not know. The voyage between worlds disrupted all sense of time and space."

"But I'm home. How did I get here?"

"That, I cannot answer. I only know that you emerged in the sea and some charitable soul fished you out and brought you here. As for myself, I am in a city of industry, but I know not where."

"What now, then?"

"We will meet again. In the meantime, I will find a way to rescue Lyris. You must follow your own path. Explore. Search for a cause to lend your hand. Join with others."

"So pretty much what I was doing before?"

"Yes, but be wary, Vestige. Our very plane of existence is in peril. The threat of Molag Bal looms across Tamriel, and chaos spreads in its shadow. We must skirmish with evil wherever it rears its head."

Amelia sighed. "Prophet, I don't know if I'm the best person for this. You're talking about a hero, and I'm hardly that."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Vestige. There is more to you than you understand. Together, we will get your soul back, we will save Lyris, and we will thwart the will of Molag Bal. I must go now."

"But what do I—"

It was too late. The Prophet disappeared.

"What a week I'm having," Amelia muttered to herself.

"Well, well," said a masculine voice, "look who's finally awake."

She looked up to see a man standing in her bedroom door, one she knew well. Jakarn—thief, spy, sometimes lover, and good friend—stood there, flipping a coin in the air and smiling at her. With dark hair and pale blue eyes, he was drop-dead gorgeous, but oh, did he know it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him. "What am _I_ doing here?"

"Kaleen pulled you out of the ocean, and I brought you home and stuck around to make sure you were all right. I was starting to wonder; that was days ago."

"Kaleen? Are you serious?"

"You may not get along, but that doesn't mean she wants you dead. You were half-drowned."

"Will wonders ever cease?"

"Who were you talking to?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Well, now that you're okay, I have somewhere I have to be. _Are_ you okay?"

That was Jakarn; he never stayed in one place longer than absolutely necessary. Amelia shrugged. "Considering. You go, love. I'll be all right."

Jakarn walked into the room, sat down on the bed, and placed a kiss on her forehead. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

"No, I don't. I never know where to find you; you always just sort of show up."

With a chuckle, he said, "What do you mean? I'm a changed man! I'm a dedicated crewman on the _Spearhead_ now."

"Yeah, until Kaleen kicks you off the ship. Thanks for watching over me, Jakarn."

"Are you sure you don't need me to stay awhile?"

"No, I'm fine. Hungry, but fine."

"Then, I'll see you soon, my dear." He kissed her on the mouth this time, just a quick peck, and then he left the apartment.

Amelia got up to go find some food. She shared the room with Kireina Skaarsgard, a soft-spoken Nord and her dearest friend. Kireina wasn't home; she was probably out on some quest. It was what they did. There were mercenaries of a sort and spent a lot of time doing "odd jobs" for the people of High Rock. Sometimes they adventured together, but Amelia had been alone when she was taken.

She had some bread, cheese, a handful of grapes, and a glass of wine, then went back to her bedroom and stood before the mirror. She was average height for a Breton—meaning she was short—with red hair that fell to just past her ears and green eyes. Men told her she was pretty, but she had always thought her cheeks were a little too soft. They gave her a pixieish look and made her look younger than she was. Today, she was pale and had dark circles under her eyes. She picked up a comb and ran it through her hair but groaned. "Oh, screw it," she said, and plopped down on the bed.

She needed rest, she was sure of it; but as she lay there, Amelia realized she wasn't the least bit tired. She guessed several days of sleep was enough. Maybe she should have asked Jakarn to stay for a while, because when she closed her eyes, she could see Mannimarco standing over her, dagger in hand, ready to pierce her heart. Gods, no. It was time to get up.

She climbed out of bed, put on a spare set of armor, dug into her stash of gold, and headed toward the marketplace to replace her weapons and good armor. Then she would find work. Anything, just so long as she didn't have to sit in her room alone and think.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	2. Soulless 2 - Assassination Plot

Soulless Two

Assassination Plot

Amelia spent the next few weeks alone; she heard Kireina was doing a job that took her all the way to the Alik'r Desert, and she really missed her friend. After all that had happened, she could really have used the company. She did a few jobs and trained, keeping herself busy and glad for any distraction she could find.

One morning when she was out and about, Giblets the dog ran up to her. He was a small mixed breed with brown fur and a constantly wagging tail. He belonged to a man named Roy, whom she had run a few interesting errands for in the past. He was a nice guy, affable and generally unassuming, but Amelia got the idea from the errands he sent her on that he knew a lot more about the inner workings of Daggerfall than he let on.

"Hi, Giblets!" she cooed, scratching the pup behind the ears.

The dog whined and ducked his head, his tail tucked between his legs, very uncharacteristic for the friendly mutt.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

He whined again and turned to slink away, but then turned back and keened at her. He did it a couple of times, and she realized he wanted her to follow.

"All right, I'm coming."

He led her through town, stopping every now and then to sniff something on the trail, finally coming to the pond next to the mill. He splashed into the water and stopped at a small hillock toward the back, where Amelia found what he wanted her to see. It was Roy, lying dead.

"Oh, no," she groaned as she knelt to examine the body. He had died of stab wounds, and recently. He didn't have much on him, just a dagger, a coin purse, and a damp shopping list—and an odd one at that. It called for three blood oranges from the grocer, a crescent-emblem cloak from the tailor, and black roses with thorns from the florist.

But before she could say, "What an odd shopping list," a man wearing dark leather armor and wielding two daggers leapt out from behind a sickly looking vine in the back corner of the pond and advanced on her.

"What in the void?" she cried, dodging a swipe from one of the daggers and quickly drawing her own swords. She wasn't fast enough, though, and he slashed her across the chest. It was a shallow cut, but it stung. She rolled out of the way before he could get another shot in, centered herself, and swung with her blade, catching him in the chest as well. Her swords were longer than his daggers, and he was no longer able to dart in and strike at her, but he was still quick and she had a time taking him down. She finally delivered a devastating jab to his side and he collapsed dead in the water.

Amelia looked up to see Giblets cowering in a corner. "Come on, boy," she said, kneeling before him. "Let's go find a town guard and tell him what happened."

She told the first guard she saw about the body in the pond and her assailant, and after asking her a few questions he let her go and went to examine the crime scene. He didn't seem interested in the shopping list, so Amelia took it to the florist's kiosk in the marketplace.

The florist, who she thought was named Diane, smiled when she approached. "Good morning," she said. "Can I interest you in a posy to gain a sweetheart's favor perhaps?"

"Not today. I was thinking of black roses with thorns."

Diane's eyes widened as she looked down and saw the blood and the tear in Amelia's shirt. "What happened?"

"I found a body in the pond by the mill. You probably know him; he owns Giblets. He was carrying this list." She handed her the list.

The florist shook her head. "Oh, that's a pity. Well, now, this is a mess."

"What do you mean?"

"I've heard whispers of dark magic, the kind of thing Roy would be interested in. Looks like it got him killed."

"And almost me. I was attacked near his body, I assume by the same guy who killed him."

"Are you all right?"

Amelia shrugged. "Just a scratch, really. Believe me, I've had worse. Thanks for your help."

"Be careful. I'd hate for Roy's fate to befall you."

From the florist, she went to the grocer, who was sorting vegetables at his stand. Amelia knew Christoph Lamont a bit better than the florist because she frequented his establishment. She and Kireina bought most of their fruits, vegetables, and spices from him. "Good morning, Red," said the blond Breton when she stepped up. "What can I get for you today?"

"How about three blood oranges?"

Christoph looked all around and then leaned in close. He whispered, "Why would you ask about that?"

"I found a list on a dead body."

"That's a phrase from the King's Intelligence Network. It means somebody is going to get killed. Look, you didn't hear this from me. I don't want any trouble."

"I understand, but trouble seems to have found me."

"I don't know anything else. Just leave me be. Ask Roy; this sounds like something he'd be interested in."

"Roy's dead."

"Oh, sweet Mara. Listen, Roy was a friend; I trusted him. But I don't really know you, and I don't trust you."

"Come on, Christoph. I need some help here."

"I can't help you, Red. I'm just a simple grocer who sells fruits and vegetables. People talk, and I listen. Then I talk to my friends, like Roy. As for other people? Maybe they should decide what they're going to do, now that they know so much."

Amelia sighed. "Thanks, Christoph. I'll leave you alone now."

"Hey, Red?" he said, catching her arm as she turned away. "Be careful, you hear?"

"You too. Thanks again. Come on, Giblets."

But the dog didn't move. He lay down at Christoph's feet.

"I'll take care of him," the grocer said.

She left the marketplace, deciding to go home and change from her street clothes into her armor, seeing how all these people were cautioning her to be careful. She daubed a healing salve into her chest wound and assessed whether she should stitch it up or not. Figuring it wasn't deep enough to worry about, she left it alone and donned her armor. The Argonian cuirass left part of her chest and shoulder exposed, including the knife wound. She had never taken a blow to the area while wearing her armor and had no reason to believe she would have done so today if she had been wearing it, so she didn't give it more than a passing thought. Besides, the cuirass looked good on her. She knew it was shallow, that she should be more interested in protection than appearance, but she was a bit vain—she couldn't help it.

After she changed, Amelia left her apartment and headed up the hill to the Winvale's Winsome Loom, which was by the south gate. Kareem Winvale didn't have a kiosk; he was inside, and his store smelled like fresh cotton. When she walked into the shop, he looked up from his chair behind the counter, where he sat with fabric, needle, and thread. "Did you finally decide to let me make that green silk dress for you, then?"

"Kareem, I told you I don't wear dresses."

"More's the pity. What can I get for you?"

"I was looking for a cloak with a crescent emblem."

"I'm afraid those aren't for sale," he said cautiously.

"Really? Because I found a shopping list on a dead man."

"Dead man? Rugged fellow? Had a dog?"

Amelia nodded. "His name was Roy."

With a sigh, he said, "Well, I'm sorry he's dead, but I'm not surprised. Roy had a way of finding trouble. If you find out what he knew and who killed him, I'm sure you'll be rewarded. That being said, it's also a good way to get _yourself_ killed."

"Tell me about it," she muttered.

"I liked Roy. He was good to Daggerfall's merchants. In exchange, we gave him information. He never told me as much, but I'm sure he worked for King Casimir. Have you reported the crime?"

"I talked to a city guard."

"Go to Captain Aresin. He usually patrols the wall between the Mages Guild and the castle."

"I'll do that. Thanks, Kareem."

"Come back if you change your mind about the dress. And for Divines' sake, be careful."

"Yeah, people keep telling me that."

She had never spoken to Captain Aresin, but she knew who he was. He was a sweet-faced man in his mid-thirties, with a shaven head and warm green eyes. She also knew where to find him, and she made her way to the wall behind the Mages' Guild. Before she could reach him, however, another assailant leapt out from behind a bush.

Amelia stepped out of the way and brought an elbow to his head when he lunged by, then yanked the dagger out of his hand and threw it. He drew a second dagger, but instead of stabbing at her, he turned it around and hit her with it. She reeled from the blow, and for just a moment she thought she was about to die again. But he didn't stab her. He just grabbed her by the hair and growled, "Stop meddling in our affairs." Then he disappeared back into the shadows.

"Whose affairs!" she shouted after him. Shaken, she took a moment to clear her head and then ascended the stairs to find the captain.

He was easy to pick out as he stood on the wall with a handful of guards. His armor was more elaborate than the others', and well, he was pretty. She walked up and said his name, and when he looked down at her, a small smile crossed his lips. "Welcome to Daggerfall," he said coolly.

"Actually, I live here, but thanks. I was told to come see you."

He furrowed a brow and studied her critically. "Are you all right?" he asked with concern.

"I was assaulted at the bottom of the stairs."

The captain reached out and gingerly touched what would probably turn out to be a nasty bruise on her temple, then he turned to one of his guards. "Healing potion," he barked, and the guard went to a nearby crate and produced a red vial. He brought it to Amelia, who gulped it down.

"Now," said Aresin. "What happened?"

"I have information from Roy."

"Roy? Where is he? Why did he send a stranger in his place?"

"He's dead." She handed him the note. "You might want to see this."

"Mara's hands!" he muttered as read the note. "How did you come across this?"

"His dog led me to him. Roy was murdered; the killer attacked me too."

"You were injured in the fight?"

She pointed to the shallow slash across her chest, which was fading thanks to the potion. "This was earlier. I killed that one, although the one down the stairs got away from me. I told one of the town guards about the murderer, but I haven't had a chance to tell anybody about—" She swallowed a huge lump in her throat. "Sorry. I can handle myself, but it just now happened and my adrenaline is . . . I'm not used to getting attacked in my own city, especially twice in one day."

"An understatement, I'm sure. Take time to catch your breath." He waited while Amelia bent over and put her hands on her knees, gasping for air. When she stood to full height again, he said, "Did you know the guard you told about the murder? I'll have to get ahold of him."

"I don't know his name, I'm sorry."

"What's your name?"

"Amelia DesJardin. Or you can call me Red. Half of Daggerfall calls me Red."

He nodded. "Amelia," he said with a smile. "This says somebody is going to be assassinated. I just don't know who. I need to find out who's behind this."

"The one who hit me told me to stay out of their affairs. Makes me want to learn more too."

"Talk to Grenna gra-Kush at the Rosy Lion Inn. Tell her what happened and see if she knows anything, then report back to me."

"I know Grenna."

"Good. And Amelia, don't try anything funny. I'm asking for your help because you're already involved and for some crazy reason I want to trust you, but if I find out you're in any way responsible, I'll cut you down."

"Fair enough. I'll go see Grenna."

Amelia and Kireina had spent enough time at the Rosy Lion to know most of its regular patrons, and she wasn't all that fond of Grenna gra-Kush. She was outspoken, rude, and could be downright hostile when the mood struck her, which was often. Amelia wasn't in the mood to deal with a temperamental orc today, but she didn't have a choice so she steeled herself and went to the inn anyway.

As soon as she walked in, Ferou Rouillac stumbled into her. "Red, it's you!" he slurred. "Come to have a . . . a . . . what do I want?"

"A drink?"

"Yeah, that's it! Come to have a drink with me?"

"You know it's not even noon yet, right?"

"I think I've been here all night."

"Maybe you should go home and go to bed."

Ferou chuckled. "That's a good idea. Sure you won't have a drink with me?"

"Not today, Ferou. I'll drink with you some other time."

"All right, but you don't know what you're missin'."

She left the drunk and headed to a table by the cooking fire, which was Grenna's regular spot. The orc was there, and Amelia sat down across the table from her.

"I'm busy!" Grenna snarled. "Can't you see I'm drinking here?"

"Captain Aresin sent me."

"And? Why are we talking?"

"Roy's dead. He uncovered an assassination plot and got murdered for it."

"Mauloch's toenails, he stepped in a viper's nest this time. One of the snakes is upstairs, talking about somebody getting killed for meddling, but I thought he was just blustering. I'd confront him, but he knows me. Maybe you can get him to talk. Get up there and talk to Leveque. Rattle his cage, but don't kill him. We might need him later."

"Will do."

"And don't mention me! I'm not an agent of the crown; I'm just an orc having a drink."

"Understood." As she ascended the stairs, Amelia had to wonder: did this make _her_ an agent of the crown? Her life had taken all sorts of weird turns since she was dragged from her bedroll and sacrificed to Molag Bal. It was quiet upstairs, too quiet. She drew her swords on the landing where the steps turned toward the second floor.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she came face-to-face with a terrified, yellow-haired Breton. "Oh, no!" he cried. "I've been discovered. Don't let her get me!"

"What the—?"

Again, an assassin stepped from the shadows. She was ready for this one, and she met her head-on. She parried the ever-present dagger and pierced the killer's heart with one thrust. "I'm getting really tired of this!" she grumbled angrily. She glared back up at the man, whom she assumed was Leveque. He squealed and ran up the stairs to the third floor, and Amelia pursued him. There was really nowhere to run on the third floor, and she cornered him easily.

"Surely you don't believe I had anything to do with that, do you?" he stammered as he cowered before her.

"I'm betting you did. But I'll let it go if you give me some information."

He stood up and straightened his tunic. "Agreed. Martine Lerineaux hired me."

"That was a little too easy."

He nodded to her swords. "I'm no fighter. I know when to give in."

"Fine. What did Lerineaux hire you for?"

"I'm a mason, you see. Lerineaux wanted me to make him a map of Daggerfall's tunnels."

"What tunnels?"

"The secret ones that lead to the castle. But I don't know what he's planning, I swear."

"Well, what in Oblivion do you think he's planning, you idiot? Somebody doesn't ask for a map of secret tunnels just to pass the time of day. You stay here, you understand? Don't even try to leave the inn, or Grenna will eat you for lunch." She left Leveque upstairs and went back to Grenna.

"I thought I heard some noise upstairs. Did you let the snake live?"

"The bitch who tried to kill me is dead, but I left Leveque alive. I did tell him you might not be so kind. He said he gave Martine Lerineaux information about secret tunnels leading to the castle."

"Martine Lerineaux? The bastard! He lives right next door. Go search his house and see if you turn up any evidence. He's a merchant; he should be at his shop right now."

"I'm off, then."

"I'll stay here and keep an eye on Leveque, so take anything you find to Captain Aresin."

Amelia went behind Lerineaux's house, picked the lock on the back door, and slipped inside. The manor was lushly furnished and meticulously clean, but it was cold. Not just the temperature—it was the residence of someone who cared only about how the house looked, not about making it a home. And standing before the fireplace was another man in the same armor as her attackers. He didn't hear her come in, though, and she was able to sneak up behind him and cut his throat. She wasn't so lucky with the one at the top of the stairs, whom she had a difficult fight with. Finally sending him dead to the floor, she made her way to a sitting area, where she found Martine Lerineaux himself.

"Kill the intruder!" he cried, lunging for her.

Lerineaux was less experienced than his thugs, and he died without much of a fight. When he fell, Amelia turned quickly, ready for the next assailant, but there was none. With a sigh of relief, she began to look around the house.

In an office upstairs, she found a letter to Lerineaux from someone named Verrik. Apparently, a group called the Bloodthorns, led by someone named Angof, intended to assassinate King Casimir. They were smuggling the killers in on a ship and were set to strike at nightfall. She left Lerineaux's house and went to Captain Aresin.

"You look a bit worse for wear," he noted when she met him atop the wall.

"This city is crawling with Bloodthorns, and they're all trying to kill me."

"Bloodthorns? Are you sure?" She handed him Verrik's letter, and he scowled at her. "Most of the royal family is secure, but his lordship is brave and stubborn. He refuses to leave the throne room. All right, keep this quiet or we'll never get to the assassins in time. Get to the docks and see if you can find them. Do you need backup?"

"Probably better if I don't have it. A complement of soldiers will alert them."

"I don't need to tell you to be careful, Amelia. These Bloodthorns, they're ruthless and they're pure evil. And Divines help us if the king is killed; it will destroy the alliance."

"Maybe that's what they're going for."

"No doubt. I'll get to the castle. You get to the docks."

* * *

Amelia found it hard to believe that there could be that many crates in the world, much less on Daggerfall's docks. There were hundreds, and most were big enough to hold a fully grown adult. But she searched them all, at least until she found the right ones on the _Lydia_. Two crates held people, one a stowaway who wailed that he had just wanted a ride, and the other a Bloodthorn assassin.

"You're too late," the assassin boasted. "Verrik is already on his way to Daggerfall Castle."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"Don't you know? I'm here to kill you."

"Not going to happen." She Bloodthorn lunged for her, and she stepped aside and brought her sword up, catching him in the throat and thanking the gods for good combat training. She had no love for the one who had taught her to fight, but at times like this she couldn't help but be appreciative. She just wondered how many more she was going to have to fight off before she could go home and soak in a hot bath.

Amelia ran as fast as she could through the streets of Daggerfall, but her feet felt as though they were slogging through the mud. Getting to the castle seemed to take an inordinate amount of time, but she finally dashed past the guards, up the stairs, and through the ornate double doors. She entered the throne room in time to hear Captain Aresin, who was standing amid a crowd of castle guards, pleading with the king to leave.

"My lord, you must go now."

"I will not!" the king replied imperiously. "The dragon does not flee its lair."

"But they're coming for you, and you're no dragon. Wait, what was that?"

Amelia hadn't even heard the door open behind her, but suddenly a handful of Bloodthorns rushed in, all brandishing daggers.

"Get the king out of here!" Aresin shouted at the guards. "Go!"

Two guards practically carried King Casamir out of the throne room and up the stairs while the remaining three, Aresin, and Amelia all drew their swords. Though she was starting to develop a splitting headache, she fought on, slashing at the nearest assassin furiously, then lunging for another after he was dead. Aresin and the guards fought bravely as well, although one of the guards fell before the rest of them finished off the intruders.

"Amelia!" called Aresin as he fought against the last one. "Upstairs!"

She ran up the stairs off the throne room to the mezzanine above, to find the two guards dead and another Bloodthorn menacing the king. This one was different, wearing heavy armor instead of dark leathers, and he wielded a sword instead of twin daggers. Verrik, it had to be. Amelia struck at him from behind and he whirled on her, sweeping her sword out of the way with his own and coming in for a quick thrust to her midsection. "No one will stand in Angof's way!" he snarled.

"I'm more worried about you at the moment," she countered with a grunt as the blow caught her enough to cut a good gash through her leather armor and into her skin. A healing potion wouldn't close this one; it would need stitches. Still, where he only had one sword, she had two, and she was able to parry the next thrust and get one of her own in before Verrik could reset.

She didn't count on magic, though, and the assassin spun around and flung a lightning bolt at her. Her right arm sizzled and scorched, and she cried out in pain and dropped her sword. As he followed through on his spin, he left his side vulnerable, and she managed to bury her other blade deep into his flesh. Aresin made it to the mezzanine just in time to see her twist the sword and jerk upward, sending Verrik to the floor with a spray of blood.

"Good riddance," said the king, walking over and peering down at Verrik's body. "Captain, this isn't easy for me to say, but I want to apologize for ignoring your warnings."

"It was nothing, my king. Forgive my impertinence."

"Not at all. You're right: I'm no dragon. And I believe I owe a debt of gratitude to our friend here."

"This is Amelia."

"Amelia, you have a place in my guard, if you want it."

"Thank you, my king," she replied, "but I'm more of a . . . freelancer."

"In that case, I'll be sure to call on you when we need someone of your talents." He nodded to the two of them and headed back downstairs.

The captain smiled at her. "Good work today."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't call me 'sir,' Amelia. It doesn't sound right, coming from you."

"Then what?"

"My name is Aresin." He nodded at the gash in her side and the burn on her arm. "You're injured again."

She nodded. "It's been a long day."

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	3. Soulless 3 - The Soulburst

Soulless Three

The Soulburst

"Vestige, it's time we meet. Come to the Harborage, a cave east of Daggerfall."

The Prophet's voice in Amelia's head woke her from a peaceful sleep, and she groaned. "Do we have to meet now?"

"What was that?" Aresin mumbled, throwing an arm over her.

"Nothing. Go back to sleep."

He snuggled closer and kissed her neck. "I'm awake now."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He turned her over on her back, bent down and placed his mouth on hers, moaning softly as he drank her in. When they finally broke the kiss, he said, "I need to get up anyway. While I would love to stay here in bed with you all day, I have to train and get to my post."

"Oh, fine."

"Come train with me."

She shook her head. "Not this morning. I smell coffee, so I think Kireina's finally home. I'm going to catch up with her." She got up and threw on a tunic and a pair of trousers while Aresin went to the wash basin and began to shave. "I'll be out here," she said as she left the bedroom.

Kireina was sitting in front of the fire with a huge mug in her hands. The Nord was blonde and pretty, half a head taller than Amelia with the solid musculature of a practiced warrior. She had come to High Rock on a mercenary job a couple of years ago and had stayed on. The child of two members of the Companions guild, she had practically grown up with a sword in her hand. While Amelia liked to fight, she also liked missions of intrigue or solving mysteries, but Kireina was all about the battle. That being said, she was the most pleasant-natured person Amelia knew. She guessed all that fighting blew off steam, because she had never seen Kireina angry. Her friend had secrets, though, secrets that Amelia kept religiously so as not to get them both killed.

Amelia went to the cookfire, where a metal pitcher warmed fresh coffee. She grabbed a mug, and using a rag so as not to burn her hands on the pitcher, she poured herself some of the hot brew and sat down next to the Nord. "You were gone for months," she complained. "You don't write, you don't send flowers, I didn't even know where you were."

"I was in Hammerfell," Kireina said with a Nordic accent, "escorting a dignitary to Sentinel. Then I spent a little time interacting with the local color, did a few missions for the captain of the guard."

"How was it?"

"It was hot, and there was nothing to hunt except assassin beetles, snakes, and necromancers. What about you?"

Aresin emerged from the bedroom freshly cleaned and shaven and looking very handsome, and he came to Amelia's side, where he took the coffee from her hand and took a sip.

"You want some?" she asked him. "There's plenty."

"Absolutely." He grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee. "Can I take your cup?"

"Just bring it back. You know how I am about that stuff. Aresin, this is Kireina."

"Well met, Kireina. I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same, Captain, but I have a feeling I'm going to."

Aresin chuckled, then bent to kiss Amelia goodbye. "I'll see you at the Lion later?"

"Sure. Have a good day," she said as he headed for the door.

As soon as he was gone and the door was closed, Kireina said, "All right, spill it. What are you doing with the captain of the guard?"

"Quite a bit, actually," she said with a wink. "But I have so much more to tell you, most of it bad."

"What happened?"

Amelia told her the story of how she was taken from her bedroll and sacrificed to Molag Bal, then woke up in Coldharbour without a soul. At first, the Nord didn't believe her, but she understood plenty about dark magic, and as she listened to the tale, she grew paler.

"You're serious," she said finally.

"Oh, yes."

"I heard rumors while I was traveling about a plot to merge Nirn and Coldharbour, but I thought they were just that—rumors. I was told about monstrous anchors that Molag Bal was sending down here along with all sorts of Daedra. I never saw one, mind you, but the stories I heard were horrendous."

"I saw one of the anchors from the Coldharbour side. It _was_ horrendous."

"And now this Prophet is speaking in your head?"

Amelia nodded. "He's in Daggerfall, apparently, or close by. I'm supposed to go see him."

"Well, do you have any _good_ news? There's obviously Captain Aresin."

"We met about a month ago when I stumbled upon a plot to assassinate King Casimir. It's not serious, but it's steady."

"Serious or not, I'm happy for you. In this town, I'm not surprised about an assassination attempt. There is so much going on behind the scenes."

"Do you know Roy? The one with the dog, Giblets. He was murdered, and I uncovered this scheme when I was investigating that. A group called the Bloodthorn Cult was behind it all."

"Bloodthorns. Are you serious? Red, they worship Molag Bal."

A great chill ran down Amelia's spine. "How do you know that?"

"I picked it up someplace; I don't remember where."

"That's just a little too coincidental. I wonder if Aresin knows that."

"I would think he'd have told you if he did."

"I haven't told him about the sacrifice. He's a practical man; I don't know how he would handle the thought that I had been killed, stripped of my soul, and raised from the dead."

"If this does get serious, you'll have to tell him eventually."

Amelia shook her head and took a sip of coffee. "I don't think it will get serious. He's married to his job, and honestly, so am I. But I like him."

"I'm afraid to ask if anything else has happened."

"Isn't that enough?"

"More than enough. So you're off to see this Prophet?"

"I am. You're staying for a while, aren't you?"

"Aye, I don't have anything else right now. I hunted last night, so I'm content to stay home for now. Let's go to the Rosy Lion for a pint later."

Amelia got up and strapped on her swords, then grabbed her knapsack and headed out with a pretty good idea where the cave the Prophet had indicated was. Just to the east of town was a cavern with a wooden set into the hillside; she figured this was the Prophet's Harborage. When she arrived at the cave, she knocked on the door, but there was no answer. She opened it cautiously and entered.

"Yes, Vestige," the Prophet's voice said. "This is the place."

She navigated a winding, partially submerged path to a spacious room at the back, where the Prophet sat among a few pieces of furniture and, oddly, a bookcase. A warm fire burned in the center. Amelia wondered how in the world the Prophet had gotten here, furnished the place, and started a fire.

"Despite my blindness," he said, as if reading her thoughts, "nay, _because_ of it, my other senses have heightened. This place had the right smell about it."

"Prophet, does anything you say ever make sense?"

With a chuckle, he said, "Occasionally."

"Actually, I have a friend who probably would have said the same thing about the scent. So where do we go from here? When we met in Coldharbour, you spoke of my destiny."

"Indeed, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Without an understanding of where we are bound, every road will lead us nowhere. And before we can understand our destination, we must speak of the past. I invite you to enter my mind and walk with me through visions of the past, so that you might understand the events that brought us here."

"Enter your mind? How does that work?"

"Simply clear your mind, and I will pull you in. It will be painless, I assure you."

Amelia breathed a bewildered sigh. "All this is so much to take."

"I understand. But you must become accustomed to seeing and hearing the unexpected and inexplicable. You are strong; you will persevere."

"All right. I guess I'm ready."

He raised his hand toward her, and with a flash of light her vision blurred and she was in another place. It looked a lot like Coldharbour, with a jagged landscape and eerie blue light; but she supposed after living in Coldharbour as long as the Prophet did, it was bound to affect someone's perceptions. She followed him down a long, gently sloping hill, listening to him narrate as he went.

"My part in this story began when I awoke on the steps of the Abbey of the Moth Priests, weak and near death with no memory of my prior life. The Moth Priests took pity on me and took me into their fold."

"Who are the Moth Priests?" she asked.

"Men and women who have devoted their lives to the reading and interpretation of the Elder Scrolls."

"I always heard they were unreadable."

"They are, for most. It was in this abbey that I first set eyes on the Scrolls, and I pledged my life to their study. The Scrolls allowed me to glimpse the very fabric of reality, but each profound insight dimmed my vision and eventually left me permanently blinded to the light of the world."

He stopped at the bottom of the hill between a dining room that just sat out in the middle of all the desolation and a circular platform where an Elder Scroll rotated over a large brazier. The Scroll was huge, and she wondered if the real ones were that big or if it was just the Prophet's idea of one.

"The prophecies of the Elder Scrolls are a fluid, living thing," he continued. "At many points throughout history, the actions of heroic mortals have rewritten them."

"You're saying the Elder Scrolls have something to do with me, aren't you?"

"The Scrolls revealed to me that your destiny is intertwined with that of the Five Companions."

"But I thought there were five hundred."

"You are well read, Vestige."

Amelia nodded. "My father made sure I was well educated."

"But is not the army that accompanied Ysgramor from Atmora. These are five adventurers brought together for a single purpose. They sought out an ancient artifact called the Amulet of Kings in the hope of using it to persuade Akatosh to accept their leader as one of the Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn? That sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't remember what it means."

"The Dragonborn are mortals with the blood of the dragon in their veins. It is said that only a Dragonborn can ignite the Eternal Dragonfires in the Imperial City."

"So who was this leader?"

"Varen Aquilarios was the son of a Colovian duke who led the rebellion against Emperor Leovic and took the crown for himself. However, Varen was not Dragonborn, and in accordance with tradition, those who sit upon the Ruby Throne must be. But more about that later. Now it is time for you to become acquainted with the Five Companions." He turned toward the dining room, where the ghostly figure of Lyris Titanborn appeared, followed by four others: two well-dressed Imperials, a robed Altmer who looked disturbingly familiar, and a Redguard with a long, full beard.

"The first companion, Lyris Titanborn, Daughter of Giants, was the mightiest warrior in service to the Emperor. She was chosen for her strength and spirit, and she was the Emperor's personal bodyguard.

"Next is Abnur Tharn, Grand Chancellor of the Imperial Elder Council. A powerful battlemage and shrewd politician, Abnur was the patriarch of one of the most influential families in Tamriel, and his counsel had helped Varen seize the Imperial throne.

"The Redguard swordmaster, Sai Sahan, leader of the Imperial Dragonguard. While Lyris defended the Emperor, Sai Sahan was responsible for protecting the group as a whole.

"The Imperial Emperor, Varen Aquilarios, who attempted to light the Dragonfires and failed.

"And finally, Mannimarco the traitor. The King of Worms. The most powerful necromancer this world has ever known. And your executioner."

"That's quite a group," Amelia muttered. "So Varen wanted to be Dragonborn because only a Dragonborn could really call himself Emperor?"

The Prophet nodded. "He conquered Cyrodiil and took the throne, but unless he became Dragonborn, he feared he would always be thought of as a pretender. "

"But how could the Amulet of Kings turn the Emperor into a Dragonborn?

"Mannimarco convinced Varen that the amulet could be used to perform a ritual that would rekindle the Dragonfires, pleasing Akatosh and prompting him to make Varen Dragonborn."

"What happened when they performed the ritual?"

"Disaster. War and Pestilence. A world brought to its knees." He motioned toward the platform where the Elder Scroll had spun. It was empty now except for the brazier. "Witness this ritual," he instructed her.

* * *

_The Five Companions gathered around the fire pit. "There it is," said Aquilarios, "the Dragonfire brazier. Mannimarco, are you sure this will work?"_

"_It will work, my liege. The Amulet of Kings will rekindle the Dragonfires and ensure your place as Emperor."_

"_This better work, Mannimarco," Lyris sneered, "or you'll find your neck at the business end of my axe."_

_Abnur Tharn rolled his eyes. "My lord, I wonder if you might muzzle this half-giant pet of yours."_

"_Enough, both of you!" Sai Sahan snapped._

"_Abnur, begin the ritual," said Varen. Abnur stepped forward and lit the brazier, and Varen lifted his hands and head. "By the lighting of the Dragonfires, I claim my rightful lineage! By the fires of creation, let me be reborn! By the will of Akatosh, I proclaim myself Dragonborn!"_

_But it wasn't Varen who levitated in a nimbus of blinding light. It was Mannimarco. With a thunderous blast, the other four companions were thrown to the ground as the necromancer laughed maniacally. "Varen Aquilarios, you are no heir to Alessia, and you will pay for your sacrilege! The veil between Tamriel and Oblivion splits and is torn asunder!"_

_The sky opened above them and Abnur gasped, "What is happening?"_

"_What is the meaning of this?" Varen demanded as he struggled against invisible bonds. "Mannimarco, what have you done?"_

"_Gullible fools! My master, Molag Bal, is free to claim Tamriel as his own!"_

"_No! Akatosh, forgive me! Have mercy on our souls!"_

* * *

The images on the platform faded out of view and Amelia turned toward the Prophet. "Mannimarco planned this all along," she assumed.

"Indeed," said the old man. "The ritual tore the veil between Nirn and Oblivion, allowing Mannimarco to begin stealing souls his master needed to power the Dark Anchors and initiate a planemeld."

"How is that possible?"

"Akatosh gave Alessia the Amulet of Kings as a symbol of his covenant with Nirn. So long as the amulet remained in the care of Alessia's heirs and the Dragonfires remained lit, Tamriel would be protected from the Daedra. Mannimarco tricked Varen into breaking the covenant, and the veil between Nirn and Oblivion was torn. The Elder Scrolls named this event the Soulburst. It gave Molag Bal the power to disconnect the souls of Nirn from their hosts."

"Like me. So what happened to all these people? Lyris, I know, but what of the others?"

"Varen was lost. In the chaos of the moment, Sai Sahan took the Amulet of Kings and fled. To this day, Tharn remains Chancellor of the Elder Council, and his daughter Clivia serves as Empress Regent. But the true power remains in the hands of Mannimarco and his Worm Cult."

"Wait, you're saying Mannimarco rules Tamriel?"

"Indirectly, yes."

"One thing still doesn't make sense to me, though. How do _you_ fit into all this?"

"When I discovered the truth about the Five Companions, I made subtle inquiries. Mannimarco got word of my interest, abducted me, and took me to Coldharbour, where I remained until you freed me."

"They saw you as a threat."

"The truth is always a threat to evil men."

"If Tharn is still among the living, this wasn't very long ago."

"Only a few years, but it seems like an eternity. Walk with me, Vestige."

He began to walk back up the hill, and Amelia followed. A Dark Anchor appeared before them, spinning in the air over the landscape, and she flinched back, but the Prophet didn't falter.

He said, "Molag Bal's Dark Anchors pierce the torn veil and seek to draw Nirn into the depths of Coldharbour. These terrible engines of destruction have been appearing all throughout Tamriel."

"Actually, I heard that just this morning. I hoped it was just a rumor."

"Alas, no. If the Lord of Brutality and Domination is successful, he will merge our world with his own in a terrible planemeld."

"So it falls to us to stop him."

"Indeed." He stopped at the top of the hill. "History seems to have caught up with us. Are you ready to return to Tamriel?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

He raised his hand, and in a flash of light she was back in the Harborage.

"You've given me a lot to think about, Prophet," she said as soon as she was steady on her feet. "What's our next move?"

"We must grow in strength and numbers. You will need more than the company of an old blind man to alter the course of history. We will assemble our own group of companions. The first, you have already met."

"Lyris."

"Yes. I must determine her position in Coldharbour so that we may mount a rescue. That will take time."

"What should I do?"

"Mannimarco's agents weave a web of lies and deceit. They pit the races of Tamriel against one another and divert their attention from the real threat. Seek out these agents wherever you can and expose their lies."

"I understand. In fact, a group known as the Bloodthorn Cult, who worship Molag Bal, has made their presence known in Daggerfall. I'll do my best to take them out."

"Good, good." He drew a quivering breath and said, "Forgive me. Bringing you into my mind seems to have taken a toll on me. I must rest."

"I understand. Get some rest, and I assume you'll . . . call me . . . when you have something."

"Remain vigilant, Vestige."

She left the old Moth Priest in the Harborage and went back to Daggerfall, her head reeling. He had said she would have to get used to this stuff, but how did one get used to the knowledge that she would have to prevent the Lord of Domination and Brutality from taking over the world?

Kireina wasn't home when she arrived back at their room, and Amelia swore under her breath. She didn't want to be alone right now. Maybe her friend was already at the Rosy Lion. She left the house and went to the inn, where she found the Nord drinking with a couple of the locals. Amelia ordered a cup of wine and sat down, spending the rest of the day engaging in small talk as best she could. Kireina mentioned once that she was unusually quiet, but there was nothing for it. There was too much on her mind, and it was too bizarre to get her head around. She needed something real, something tangible.

When Aresin walked into the pub just after sunset, she grabbed his hand. "Let's go back to my place," she said urgently.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

"Not really. Just come with me."

She led him back to the apartment, and as soon as they were inside with the door closed, she turned and kissed him deeply and hotly. He moaned and wrapped his arms around her, guiding her toward the bedroom. They undressed each other as they went, and by the time they reached the bed they were mostly naked. Amelia pulled him down with her.

Aresin played his hands over her body, pausing to massage her breasts. She gasped as he brushed a thumb across her nipple and then covered it with his mouth, nibbling and running his tongue over it.

"I need you inside me," she breathed.

"Already?"

"Please. I just need you to hold me."

"Okay," he said good-naturedly, moving on top of her and sliding into her.

Amelia held onto Aresin possessively as he moved in and out of her, her moans coming more audible as the intensity built between them and finally exploded. Tears began to stream down her cheeks as she came, and she buried her face on his shoulder, squeezing his buttocks and pulling him deeper into her. Aresin cried her name and arched his back as he released inside her. Then he collapsed in her arms.

Amelia continued to weep, and Aresin kissed the tears from her cheeks. "Hey, what's wrong?" he whispered.

"Just a bad day," she whimpered. "I just really needed the contact. I needed _you_."

"Well, don't cry; it'll be okay." He moved off of her and pulled her to him, and she laid her head on his chest as he held her close. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's hard to explain. Just hold me for now."

"Of course."

After a while she stopped crying and lay quietly for a long time, listening to Aresin's heartbeat as he caressed her back and shoulders. She finally looked up at him and said, "Have you heard anything about Dark Anchors?"

Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Yes, but how have _you_ heard?"

"Kireina said something, and I have another . . . acquaintance . . . who was talking about them. Apparently they're popping up all over Tamriel."

"Yes, and Daedra come them through by the dozens. In fact, one appeared on Glenumbra's southeastern shore just a couple of days ago, not five miles from here. A handful of warriors managed to kill the Daedra and destroy the anchor, but I hear it was a major battle." He ran his fingers through her hair. "Is this what's gotten you so upset?"

"I don't scare easily. But the things I heard today are . . . well, they're overwhelming."

"What else did you hear?"

"That they are anchors designed by Molag Bal to merge Nirn with Coldharbour."

He stared at her mutely for a moment, not breathing, but he finally recovered and said, "This person, the one who told you that, do you trust them?"

"I do. I don't believe he would lie to me."

"Then Divines help us. I would say I'll keep you safe, but I think you can take better care of yourself than I could."

"You believe me, then?"

"Of course I believe you, and it scares the crap out of me. But I'm not one to live in fear, or to stand by and let something like this just go. I'll ask around, maybe talk to the Mages Guild, and see if anybody can figure out a way to stop Molag Bal."

Amelia didn't think it was a good idea to tell him _she_ was supposed to be the one to stop him. He wouldn't understand.

He pulled her closer and laid a kiss on her head. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"You did it," she replied as she craned her neck and met his lips with hers.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	4. Soulless 4 - Werewolf

Soulless Four

Werewolf

It was spring in Glenumbra, and with the warming weather came what Aresin liked to call "bandit season." The Red Rook bandits had grown bolder of late and had even gone so far as to take a local resident and his family hostage in their own home. The city guard was undermanned, so Aresin sent Amelia and Kireina to help rescue the family and get rid of the bandits.

The women went to Noellaume Manor northeast of town and met with Captain Farlivere, who was set up half a mile outside the grounds.

"The biggest problem we have at the moment is the wolves," the captain told them. "The Red Rooks use trained wolves to guard their camp. It increases their confidence, I guess, but it also makes them careless."

She handed Amelia a sack full of foliage. "This is wolf's woe. I need you to infiltrate the camp and get into the manor, then give this to Lord Arcady Noellaume and his family. The plant will mask their scents, and they should be able to walk past the wolves and get out of the area. Bring them to me if you can. Once you've taken care of the wolves and released the hostages, we can charge in and take out the bandits."

"Anything else we need to know?" Kireina asked.

"Sure is." She picked up a knapsack from nearby and handed it to the Nord. "They've probably locked the house, so you'll have to find the key; it's probably on the chief or in his tent. I hear you're good at subterfuge. Inside that sack are two Red Rook uniforms, which you can use to sneak past the bandits."

"Can't we just fight our way through?"

Farlivere shook her head. "There are too many for two of you. Sneak through, get the key, and rescue the hostages. Kill anyone who tries to stop you, but try not to cause too much of a ruckus."

"No, these are great," said Amelia, taking the knapsack from Kireina and pulling out the disguises. "Don't worry, Kireina. I'm sure there will be some Red Rooks for you to kill."

"I can always hope," she replied with a chuckle.

Amelia and Kireina went behind a shrub and changed into the disguises, then left their armor with the captain and set out toward the camp, Kireina grumbling about the lack of protection the disguises provided. They held some protective magic, but they probably wouldn't stand up to a sword to the belly. They walked through like they owned the place, and though a few of the bandits gave them suspicious glances, no one stopped them. They finally had to fight when they reached the chief's tent. A vicious-looking orc stood just outside the doorway, arms folded, talking to a burly Nord. There was no way past them.

"Yes!" Kireina whispered triumphantly.

They drew their weapons and snuck up on the bandits as best they could, then engaged them. Amelia took the orc, casting a Soul Shred spell on him first. The spell stunned him momentarily, and she was able to draw her swords and get in a couple of good strikes before he came out of it and swung his heavy warhammer at her. She narrowly dodged a devastating blow to the head, darting in to make two deep slashes across his midsection. With an "oof" and a spray of blood, he collapsed to the ground and died. Amelia turned just in time to see Kireina decapitate the Nord.

Her friend growled with vigor as the head flew and blood gushed all over her. "That's what I needed!" she exclaimed.

"I'm happy for you, but keep your voice down. I love a good fight as much as you do—well, maybe not _that_ much—but the captain was right. There are too many Red Rooks to take down ourselves, so just hush."

"Eh, you're ruining all my fun," Kireina teased.

Amelia and Kireina checked the bandits' pockets for a key, but there was none. When they searched the tent, however, Amelia found it in a lockbox on a table. "Let's get inside," she said.

They crossed the yard, stopping to fight one of the troop's trained wolves, an altercation that left Kireina panting with a wild look in her eyes.

"Rein it in, Kir," Amelia warned her.

"I'm all right. I guess the wolf's woe wasn't strong enough to mask _my_ scent, huh?"

"I'm surprised it attacked; it was probably terrified of you. Gods, _I'm_ terrified of you."

They entered the house and killed the bandit that was on guard, then went downstairs to find the Noellaume family tied up in the basement. They untied the hostages and distributed the wolf's woe, then escorted them out the back way, past the wolves and traps, and to the road where Captain Farlivere and the other guards waited.

"Anything you can tell us about the bandits?" the captain asked Lord Noellaume.

"Yes, yes. I'm glad to help! I would have fought the fiends myself, but they surprised us."

"It was better letting us do the dirty work, my lord."

"Some of them came in by boat, but they're mainly operating out of Ilessan Tower. Most of them are here on the grounds, but a few stayed back at the tower to stand guard."

Farlivere turned to Amelia and Kireina. "We'll charge in here and retake the grounds. You two go to Ilessan Tower and clear it out. Report back to me when you're done."

Maintaining the disguises but taking their armor with them, the women made their way to the tower, which was just outside of Daggerfall. The above-ground portion of the tower, which was all that was left standing of an old fort, was in ruins. However, a trap door led to a lower level that was still pretty much intact. It was a good hideout for bandits, and though Amelia had never been there, she knew the city guards had to clear the tower most every spring.

They stashed their armor in a nook at the rear of the tower and then drew their swords, and Kireina carefully opened the trap door. Noellaume had been right; there were only a few Red Rooks present, and thanks to the disguises, most of them let the women walk right up before realizing they weren't supposed to be there. They cleared out the tower in a couple of hours, then checked for loot and anything of interest. Amelia found just such an item on a crate near a cookfire. It was a letter with some startling news.

_B-  
Loot as much as you can from Ilessan Tower. We need resources to take to the Bloodthorns. We will be in control of Noellaume Manor by the time you're done. Flank the Daggerfall guards when you get there.  
-T_

"Sweet Akatosh, the Red Rooks are working with the Bloodthorns!" Amelia gasped.

"Better take that to Aresin."

"You're right. Let's get out of here."

They left the tower and changed back into their own armor, then reported to Captain Farlivere. When she released them, they headed back to town. They passed a beggar Amelia often gave money to on the way in. She didn't know his name, but she always spoke, even when she didn't have any coin to give him. She said hello and started to walk away, but he grabbed her arm.

"Please," he said, "I need your help."

"I'm sorry, friend. I don't have anything on me at the moment."

"No, no, it's not the coin; I need something else. You're the one who stopped the assassination plot, right?"

She nodded. "What can I help you with?"

"There are murders. Somebody—some_thing_—is killing Daggerfall's poor."

Kireina cocked her head to the side like a curious puppy. "Go on," she prodded.

"The guards won't help. They figure it's just one more bum off the streets."

That made Amelia angry. She knew the guards and considered many of them her friends. If they were neglecting the poor for any reason, she was going to be very put out. "Who did you talk to?" she asked the beggar with an edge to her voice.

"Lieutenant DuBois. He didn't say those exact words, you understand. He just implied that he had more important things to worry about. He said it was probably exposure or starvation that killed them, but Red, these people were torn to pieces. When I told him that, he said it was probably just an animal attack."

"How many?"

"Three, so far."

"We'll look into it," she promised.

"You might start with the alleyways. That's where all the murders took place."

"I want to talk to Lieutenant DuBois first, and then we'll check the alleys."

They said goodbye to the beggar and went to the town square, where DuBois normally stood watch. He was good looking, mid-thirties, with blond hair and blue eyes. He usually had a smug expression on his face, but after getting to know him, Amelia knew he was actually a nice guy. He just _looked_ like an ass.

"Well met, Red, Kireina," he said when they approached. He noticed Amelia's grim expression and said, "What's wrong?"

"I just heard some local beggars have been murdered."

DuBois sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "They haven't been murdered, Red. That guy isn't right in the head, and he's just making up stories."

"So three of them _weren't _torn to pieces? Did you even investigate?"

"I didn't think it was necessary."

"DuBois, just because he's homeless doesn't mean he's crazy. You should have checked up on this."

With a glare, he said, "Are you telling me my job? I report to your boyfriend, not to you."

"Then I'll go to him."

She walked away before he could respond and went to Aresin, who was standing at his post.

His eyes widened when he saw her. "You're covered in blood. Are you all right?"

"Most of it isn't mine. I'm okay. We rescued the Noellaume family and helped clear out the bandits, and we found this in Ilessan Tower." She handed him the note, and he groaned.

"Thanks for bringing this to me. We'll get right on it."

Amelia crossed her arms and stared at him.

"What is it? Something else?"

"Do you know about the murders?"

"Which ones?"

"'Which ones'?"

"It's a big city, Amelia."

"I'm talking about the poor. Three homeless people were ripped apart."

"Right, they were animal attacks."

"How can you be sure? DuBois said you didn't even look into it."

"Because they were animal attacks. I thought it was pretty clear. The countryside is crawling with wolves. One of them probably tunneled under the wall."

Amelia shook her head. "Aresin, you can't just let this go."

"Amelia, you know we're stretched thin. I can't afford to sacrifice the manpower to check into something involving a bunch of vagrants who were obviously attacked by wolves!"

Amelia's blood boiled, and she recoiled as if he'd slapped her. "'A bunch of vagrants'? I can't believe you actually said that! You know I've lived on the streets. Am I a vagrant?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Gods damnit, Aresin, that's what the guard is for!"

He rolled his eyes. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

She merely glared at him.

"Fine, fine. Check into it, but I think you're going to come to the same conclusion as we did. If you actually find anything, I'll see to it that you're compensated."

"Don't worry about it. We'll do this one at no charge."

"Why are you so upset?"

"They might be homeless, but that doesn't mean they're bums. They're down on their luck, but they deserve the same respect as your fine, upstanding citizens, and you and DuBois are telling me they're not worth your time. Which means if I was living on the streets, _I_ wouldn't be worth it."

"Amelia, you don't understand. You don't stand up here and watch the city every day, and you don't see what I do."

"No, I most definitely do not, and maybe that's a good thing. Look, I have to go. I want to find out what's going on here as soon as I can."

"Will I at least see you later so we can talk about this?" he asked plaintively.

"I don't know. You're not the person I thought you were, Aresin. I need time to think. I'll at least let you know what we turn up, though." She turned her back and walked away.

"Amelia!"

But she didn't turn around. She just kept going.

Kireina followed behind her, and when she caught up, she said, "Well, that went well."

"'A bunch of vagrants.'"

"I don't think he meant anything by it."

"That's kind of the point, isn't it? He didn't think about what he was saying because he has no consideration for them. I don't want to talk about it anymore. Let's take a look at the alleys, okay?"

"Right with you."

They started with the alleys on the south side of town and found a crime scene almost immediately. Someone had taken the body away, but blood was spattered all over the ground and the back wall of a house. Kireina sniffed around while Amelia took a closer look, and then they compared notes.

"I found some hair and a few pieces of clothing next to the wall," said Amelia. "Without a body to examine it's hard to say, but I think our friend may have been right about them being ripped apart."

"There are two scents," Kireina noted, "one of the victim and one that's . . . disturbing. And it's not a wolf. I just hope I'm wrong about what it is."

"What do you think it is?"

A man and a woman were seated on the ground nearby, surrounded by some bags and a few odds and ends, and before Kireina could answer Amelia, the man called them over.

"Take care," he warned. "A vicious monster stalks these alleyways."

"Why are you back here, then?" Amelia asked.

"This is where we live," he replied defensively.

"It's been attacking mostly at night," the woman told them.

"What kind of monster?" asked Kireina apprehensively.

"We haven't seen it. None have seen it and lived."

They went on and searched some of Daggerfall's other alleys and found another bloody scene on the west side. There was more shredded clothing, and Amelia found several small bones, probably from a hand or foot.

Just around the corner from the scene, a man called them over. "You're investigating, yes? Word travels fast."

"Yes, we are," said Amelia. "Anything you can tell us?"

"It's a werewolf."

"Damn it!" Kireina exclaimed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

"Terrible things are going on here, right under the city guard's noses, and they do nothing. Necromancers are prowling the streets, those terrible green vines are cropping up all over, and now a werewolf stalks the poor."

"What do the vines have to do with it?" asked Amelia.

"The vines belong to the Bloodthorn Cult, didn't you know? Wherever the vines appear, the Bloodthorns aren't far away."

"And how do you know that?"

He gave her a sly smile. "Nobody pays attention to the homeless. We're invisible. That means we can listen. We know more about what goes on in this city than anyone because nobody pays us any mind. The Bloodthorns are in Daggerfall, and you know it. And if you didn't, the vines are proof."

"But what makes you think it's a werewolf?" Kireina demanded.

"Mariah the Invisible saw it. Seven feet tall, covered in fur, long, sharp claws and fangs. It was last seen over by the river; that was a couple of days ago."

"A werewolf. In my city!"

"_Your_ city?" the man echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Just that we feel responsible for the welfare of the residents here," Amelia said quickly. "Rest assured, friend, we'll take care of it."

They left the man on the corner and headed toward the river, Kireina seething. This was one of the few times Amelia had ever seen her angry, and she was trembling and red-faced. "A fucking werewolf in Daggerfall. Who does he think he is?"

"He's a smart one too. He's only targeting the homeless, whom few people will miss, if any. I wonder if he's associated with the Bloodthorns."

"He has to be; it's too coincidental otherwise. Look, you can tag along, Red, but if we find this werewolf, he's mine. Daggerfall is only big enough for one werewolf."

"Understood. Do you think he knew you lived here?"

"My scent is all over town; I even marked the outer walls and city gates. He knew."

They searched the riverbank, and although they found some tracks that definitely belonged to a werewolf, they didn't find the creature himself. Craning her neck and sniffing, Kireina began tracking the beast. She lost his scent when it went into the water, but she found it again on the other side of the river. It led under the bridge and to a small opening under the wall.

"How did the guards not see that?" she grumbled.

"It's out of the way. He tunneled under the wall just next to the bridge where nobody ever goes, and he was able to slip in and out as he pleased."

"Well, no more." Kireina crawled into the tunnel, which was big enough to accommodate a werewolf, so the women had no trouble getting through. It led back up to ground level a few feet outside the wall, and Kireina continued to follow the scent. She didn't find the creature, but she found the man, sitting by a cookfire at a camp hidden in the woods about half a mile out of town.

The werewolf recognized Kireina by her scent, and with a snarl, he began to shift to his beast form, as did Kireina. With the ripping of clothing, the crunch of bone and the squish of flesh, the Nord changed into a monstrous beast. Amelia had seen her friend shift twice before, and it always gave her chills. Kireina wasn't small by any means, but the change in size was astonishing, and she radiated sheer rage. The presence of the slavering monster—even though it was her best friend—terrified her. After all, werewolves couldn't always control their impulses, and she couldn't be sure she wasn't in any danger.

Resting her hands on her swords, she took several steps back and watched in horror as Kireina charged the other werewolf, roaring with fury and then laughing maniacally as she tore him to pieces. He shifted back to human form as he perished, and Amelia tried not to watch as Kireina ripped into his chest, yanked out his heart, and ate it. Finally, panting and covered with blood, her friend looked over at her. "I'll be back," she growled, and she loped off toward the river.

Amelia figured Kireina was cleaning up, so she sat down with her back to a nearby tree and waited, staring at the torn body of the werewolf. She was still spattered with blood, herself; she could probably do with a bath too. But she would wait till she got home rather than bathe in the river. Deciding she should inspect the camp, she got up and went over, stepping around the blood and gore as best she could. The search was successful, and she recovered a few pieces of jewelry and a letter.

_L-  
Your infiltration into Daggerfall has been noticed, and you are instructed to take more care with your hunt. You are there to gather evidence, not slaughter the locals. If you cannot maintain better control, we will remove you and send someone else in.  
Hail Faolchu and Angof  
-T_

Angof. So it _was_ the Bloodthorns, and this werewolf was a spy. He just couldn't control his impulse to kill.

It occurred to Amelia that the Bloodthorns were arrogant, writing letters to each other and keeping them out in the open as if they couldn't imagine anyone possibly opposing them. They weren't afraid, and they weren't subtle. Well, that was fine. It would just make her job easier.

After a few minutes, Kireina came loping back, clean and wet. When she reached the camp, she shifted back to her human form and stood before Amelia, stark naked, with a smile on her face.

"Good thing we kept those Red Rook uniforms," she quipped. "Can't very well head back to town with no clothes on."

"You smell like a wet dog."

"I probably should have shifted back _before_ I jumped in the river."

"Are you okay?"

"Of course. Got to blow off steam, got to feed; I'm one happy werewolf. Of course, I need new armor—again—but I'm used to that."

"Well, it scared the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry about that. I wouldn't hurt you; surely you know that."

"What if you had lost control?"

Kireina shook her head as she rummaged through the knapsack for a Red Rook uniform. "A werewolf who can't control her impulses isn't a very good werewolf."

"Apparently _this_ guy couldn't." She read the note to her friend.

"Uh-huh, and it got him killed. Bad werewolf. No biscuit." She looked at Amelia pensively. "Angof we know, but who is Faolchu? There was a sort of werewolf king named Faolchu, but he's long dead."

"I don't know. We'll have to keep our eyes and ears open. Let's get back to town and tell Aresin what we found and remind him that he needs to take the poor more seriously."

The sun had set by the time they walked through the gates of Daggerfall, and Amelia sighed with satisfaction. At least for now, the homeless didn't have to fear the night, and she was glad about that. But the Bloodthorns wouldn't let it stay that way for long. The werewolves, the vines, the assassination attempt—and she couldn't forget what the beggar had said about necromancers. And they all worshiped Molag Bal. With that thought, the satisfaction melted away and anxiety set in. Worrying was a waste of energy, though, so she strengthened her resolve to do whatever it took to stop the Bloodthorn Cult and Molag Bal.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	5. Soulless 5 - The Beldama Wyrd

Soulless Five

The Beldama Wyrd

Aresin and DuBois were understandably concerned about a werewolf in Daggerfall and promised to be more vigilant. They were also apologetic over their treatment of the homeless, but Amelia didn't really expect them to change. Aresin was right: they had seen a lot in their time with the guard, and that could make a person jaded.

Over the next few weeks, Amelia saw less and less of Aresin. They were both busy with bandits and Bloodthorns, and she never really forgave him for his insensitivity toward the homeless. After a while, it got to where they rarely saw each other at all, except when discussing work. She supposed it was for the best. She liked Aresin, but there was too much going on in her life to let her feelings develop into love. Fortunately there was little tension between them, and they were civil and able to work with each other. They still woke up in bed together occasionally, usually when they had been drinking, but even that grew less often.

And then there was the Dark Anchor. The one Aresin had mentioned on the southeastern shore of Glenumbra kept opening back up, and they were out there at least once a week trying to keep the thing closed. The battles were harrowing, and sometimes Amelia would have nightmares about the terrifying anchors opening up on top of her and raining Daedra. But she kept on fighting. What else could she do?

She did have new toys to play with. Work had been lucrative lately, so she had invested in two new swords and had Camille Ashton, Daggerfall's resident enchanter, put flame and shock enchantments on them. Camille had also worked miracles with a few new pieces of armor, and Amelia felt like a different woman, roving the countryside with superior weapons and better protection from the creatures Molag Bal kept throwing at her.

She was heading home after just such a battle when she passed a Wyress on the road. She was pretty, dark haired and gray eyed, wearing an animal-skin dress with bone embellishments. The witches of the Beldama Wyrd had been in the area trying to rid the local mill of forest creatures that had inexplicably turned hostile. Amelia had offered to help, but they had assured her that everything was well in hand, so she had left them to it. But today, the Wyress pulled her aside.

"You mentioned a willingness to help," she said. "Does that offer still stand?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I'm Wyress Ileana."

"You can call me Red."

"Red, thank you. As you know, things are not well in our woods, but lately they have grown even worse. The Guardians have gone silent, and this corruption spreads."

"Who are the Guardians?"

"Elemental spirits, one each for air, earth, and water. They're the Ehlnofey, and they have been a part of the land since the dawn of Tamriel. They protect the land and _used to_ guide us, but suddenly, nothing."

"Why would they stop communicating like that?"

"We have no idea. We don't know if we've angered them or if someone has done something to hurt them . . . there is a ritual to contact them, but it's too dangerous for my sisters and me to perform."

"Is it something I can do?"

"I don't know; you're not one of us, but we simply can't fight the creatures, so we have to try _something_."

"Creatures. Great."

"If this is too much—"

"No, no, not at all. I'm glad to help. It just seems like there are always creatures."

"Indeed." She pointed through the trees. "See the lurchers out there? The green monstrosities that look as though they're made from rotting wood."

They were hard to miss. They were dark green, bipedal, about seven feet tall with no heads to speak of; they just sort of ended at the shoulders. They were hollow, and a large, glowing circle rested in the center of their chests. "I see them. What are they?"

"They're abominations of the Bloodthorns. They used to be spriggans, but the Bloodthorns have twisted and corrupted them. Gather their limbs—that's the dangerous part—then burn them at the altar atop the nearby ruins."

"Would you like for me to just kill the lurchers and so you can perform the ritual?"

"Unfortunately, it doesn't work that way. The one who gathers the limbs must burn them. If it works, a guardian should appear, and hopefully we can find out what we've done, or what we need to do. Afterward, find me at the Vale of the Guardians, just north of here."

"I can do that. Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

She set out to fight the lurchers, which turned out to be among the easiest battles she'd had in days. They were indeed made of rotting wood, so they didn't stand up well to her flame-enchanted sword. They weren't easy by any means, and she took a couple of jarring blows from one or two of them, but she managed to get a fairly good stock of lurcher limbs to perform the ritual.

The ruins Ileana had mentioned were up a hill that was overgrown with the foul Bloodthorn vines, from which wafted a pungent yellow mist. Near the top of the hill stood a necromancer, with whom Amelia had a bloody fight. The necromancer wasn't the problem; it was the zombie he raised that gave her trouble. She fought off the zombie as best she could, hacking at it and ducking out of the way when it vomited a disgusting green goo at her, but it was hard to kill. She finally managed to get around it and reach the necromancer, who was otherwise unarmed. He lobbed a couple of flame spells at her, but they were clearly not his strong suit and Amelia was able to dodge them and take his head off. When the necromancer fell, so did the zombie.

Farther up the hill, she found the altar, which was also overgrown with the vines, and put the limbs upon it; then with a well-placed jab from her flaming sword, she set them ablaze. Out of the fire rose a figure that looked like a female human, but it was made entirely of stone.

"Greetings, child. I am the Guardian of the Earth. We are the Ehlnofey, echoes of old voices, remnants of a time long ago. We nurture the land and guide the Wyrd. We have been waiting for someone to summon us. Angof the Gravesinger has imprisoned us, and we are cut off from the Wyrd. You must set us free."

"How can I do that?"

"The first step is to cleanse the standing stones of Angof's dark influence."

"Where are these standing stones?"

"The Wyresses will know of what we speak. Protect the Wyrd while they destroy the corruption binding the stones. This will loosen Angof's grip. From there, a ritual involving your spirit will bring about our release."

"_My_ spirit?"

"You will not be harmed during the ritual, but you must be the catalyst. Wyress Ileana will know what must be done."

"I've been trying to learn more about Angof," she told the stone spirit. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

"He is a tremor in the land, a poison in the water. He is Gravesinger, Reachmage, necromancer, and corrupter."

"He's a man? An elf? Something else?"

"He is man, but he is tainted by evil. You must stop him."

"I'll do whatever I can."

The guardian faded from view, and Amelia went back down the hill. The vines were becoming more prominent in the woods, and they completely lined the road in some places. But when she reached the Vale of the Guardians, it seemed someone had placed a protective spell around the area. Flowers and healthy trees grew among lush green grass, and the warm sun streamed through the canopy above. It was beautiful.

Wyress Ileana was waiting in a small garden inside the vale. "I heard a whisper throughout the forest. Was it the guardians? Did they talk to you? Did they say what we've done?"

"You haven't done anything, Ileana. Angof has them imprisoned."

"Imprisoned! Our enemy is that powerful?"

"She said he was a gravesinger."

"A gravesinger? Oh, no."

"What is a gravesinger, exactly?"

"A gravesinger's power goes beyond that of a simple necromancer. We must free the Guardians! But how?"

"The Guardian said to send your Wyrd to cleanse the standing stones."

Ileana nodded. "Cleanse the stones of the choking vines, of course. I will send three of my sisters north to cleanse the stones, but they will need protection from the corrupted creatures that might attack them before they complete the spell."

"I'll go protect them, but the Guardian said this was only the first step. She said my spirit would be involved in another ritual and that you would know what to do next."

"Did she say why it had to be you?"

Amelia shook her head in response.

"Perhaps they know something we don't, then. They can be mysterious. We'll need to sacrifice a spriggan—or better yet, a lurcher—to cleanse the ritual site first." She took an amulet from around her neck and handed it to Amelia. She didn't know what inside the small sack at the end of the leather string, but she could feel the power it radiated. It practically vibrated in her hands. "When the sisters are done, weaken a lurcher and use the amulet to take control of it. Just hold it toward the creature and utter the words, '_Solo kiro na-cientho_.' Then lead it up the hill to us. We'll do the rest."

"'_Solo kiro na-cientho_.' Got it."

Ileana called three of her sisters over and introduced Wyresses Ofelia, Madenn, and Shaelle. Together they made their way through the forest until they reached the first stone.

"See these vines?" said Ofelia. "Corruption runs through them and they choke the sacred stones. Soon they will tap into the stone's magic and defile it completely. I need you to protect me while I cleanse the stone."

"What about you two?" Amelia asked Madenn and Shaelle.

"Only one of us can cleanse a stone," said Shaelle, "and it tires us out so that we can't do any more. When Ofelia finishes here, she will go up the hill to join Ileana and we will go to the next stone, and so on."

"I understand. All right, you two hide behind a tree or something. Just stay out of the way. Ofelia, I'm ready."

"The protectors will be on us as soon as I begin the spell," Ofelia warned. She raised her hands toward the stone and began chanting. Fire blazed forth from her hands, but before it could catch the vines, a Bloodthorn cultist leapt out from behind the stone and attacked.

Amelia engaged the cultist, taking him down with ease, but another one appeared seemingly out of nowhere and cast a spell that made her head swim. Before she could recover, her torso erupted in pain, and she came out of the haze to realize he had hit her with a fireball.

"Damn you!" she cried as she raised her hand to cast her own spell. This one pulled the life force from the cultist's body, and he hung there like a ragdoll for a few seconds as the life transferred from his body to hers, affording her a small amount of healing in the process. Just as he began to recover, Amelia jabbed her shock sword into his belly and he keeled over, dead.

"It's destroyed," said Ofelia. "I'll meet you at the ritual site after I've rested for a minute."

"You're injured," said Madenn, walking up to Amelia. She reached into a pouch on her belt and produced a healing potion. "Here. Drink."

Amelia accepted the potion and sighed with relief as the blisters on her torso faded away. In only a few moments, she was pain free. "Thanks," she said earnestly. "Now, let's go take care of the other two stones."

Madenn cleansed her stone and Amelia protected her without injury, but she ended up needing more healing when defending Shaelle. One of the cultists bashed her on the head, and though she managed to finish him off, as soon as he was dead, she fainted. She awoke with her head in Shaelle's lap, and the Wyress was holding a healing potion to her lips.

"I fear you have a concussion," she said, "but this should help. As you already know, our healing potions are powerful." She held the potion for Amelia as she drank.

Amelia tried to get up, but Shaelle pulled her down. "Sit for a moment, let it take effect. You'll be no good to us if you pass out again."

"You're right, sorry."

"No need to apologize. We are so grateful for your help. We could not have done this without you."

They sat together next to the stone for half an hour or so until Amelia was feeling better, and then Shaelle made her way to the ritual site and she prepared to fight a lurcher. She found one nearby and used her Shadow Cloak spell to sneak up on it, then weakened it with a few swings of her flame sword. When it was struggling to stand, she held forth the amulet. "_Solo kiro na-cientho!" _she shouted.

A green mist swirled out of the amulet and surrounded the lurcher. It turned to her as if it were looking at her. It gave a little bow, then stood to full height and trembled as if it were a dog shaking water out of its fur.

"You coming with me, then?" she asked. It didn't answer, of course, but it followed her when she started out. Every once in a while, it would stop and shiver, and the curiosity was killing her. Why did it do that? Ileana had said it was a corrupted spriggan. Maybe the shakes were the spriggan trying to reassert itself. She would probably never know.

They passed another lurcher on the way, and Amelia's lurcher attacked it. She didn't have to do anything as it ripped the other creature apart. When it was done, it looked at her as if for approval.

"Thanks," she said simply. "Let's go."

They arrived at the top of the hill to find a ring of stones and a handful of Wyresses standing among them. Amelia led the lurcher to the center of the circle, where it immediately started to tremble. It fell to the ground and a mist rose out of it. The lurcher disintegrated, and a spriggan took its place.

"By my blood, the corruption is washed away," the spriggan said weakly. Then she lay on the ground and perished.

"The sacrifice has made this holy place pure again," Ileana told Amelia. "The poor spriggan spirit is finally free. We can begin the ritual to set the Guardians free whenever you are ready."

"I'm ready," said Amelia.

"Beldama! Sisters! Focus your power on Amelia. It's time to break Angof's hold on the Guardians."

The Wyresses stood in a circle around Amelia and held their hands toward her. White light streamed from their fingers and engulfed her in warmth. There was a bit of a shock, but there was very little pain. Suddenly the light exploded all around her and dissipated, and the three Guardians hovered at the edge of the ring of standing stones.

Amelia already knew the Guardian of the Earth, whose stone countenance was more prominent in person. The others appeared female as well; the Guardian of the Water was made of ice, and the Guardian of the Air was little more than a specter.

"At last the chains of corruption fall away," said the Guardian of the Earth. "We are free of Angof's hold!"

The Guardian of the Air sneered, "And he will pay for this insult."

"Champion of the Guardians, we are in your debt," said the Guardian of the Water. "It is right that you should be the one to free us. You are mortal, yet you are _not_ mortal. Angof has much to fear from you, as you have power he does not understand—power that you do not yet understand yourself. But his evil still flows through the land, and this must end quickly. There is more work for you."

"I'll do whatever is necessary."

"Go to the Wyrd Tree and speak to Wyress Gwen. She will instruct you on what needs to be done."

With that, the Guardians disappeared. Ileana walked over and handed Amelia a pouch of gold and a dagger. "It's not much, but you should be rewarded for what you did today. The dagger steals life and may help you in your quest. If not, it should bring a good price."

"Thank you, Ileana. I was glad to help, reward or no." She didn't say so, but it was better to get the reward.

"Come. Rest with us tonight and go to the Wyrd Tree in the morning. You've been injured today, and you must be tired."

Amelia chuckled. "I am. I just realized I'm exhausted."

* * *

There was a small, quiet celebration in the Vale of the Guardians that night, and the sisters almost made Amelia feel like a Wyress herself. They bestowed blessing after blessing upon her, fed her well, and gave her a soft, comfortable bed to sleep in. When she awoke the next morning, she broke her fast with them and thanked them graciously before heading north to the Wyrd Tree.

She met one of the Wyresses standing on a hillock surrounded by vines. She walked up behind her and said, "Excuse me."

The witch jolted and turned around quickly. "What! Who . . . damn it all! The last person who snuck up on me got a sword in the gut for his trouble!"

"I didn't sneak; I just walked up. Ileana sent me to help you. I'm supposed to speak to Wyress Gwen."

"Sorry," said the witch sheepishly. "Old habit. I was in the guard before I joined the Wyrd. I'm Gwen. You're here to help? Lovely. The damn Bloodthorns have taken the Wyrd Tree. I've never seen magic like this. I don't know what you can do, but I'm willing to try anything at this point."

"Let's just go about it bit by bit. What's the first thing we can try?"

"Well, we have rituals we can use to try to cleanse the corruption, but we can't get near the tree and the cultists stole our portal stones. We need those stones so that we can get to our enclave without being seen."

"I'll get your stones back. I'm assuming the cultists have them?"

"Yes. When you get the stones, go to the huts near the tree and open portals for the sisters. The incantation is, '_Lo duf tienvay_.'" She handed Amelia a smooth, round gem. "This is my portal stone. When the others have been taken care of, use mine to port me to the entrance of the tree."

"'_Lo duf tienvay.'_ All right, you stay here for now."

Amelia walked through the glade where Gwen stood and out into a clearing where she could see the Wyrd Tree. She had seen it before, of course—it wasn't all that far from where she grew up—but she could never get over its size. It was at least 200 feet tall and had to be half a mile in diameter, and its roots spread out for miles. The Wyresses lived inside and around the massive tree, and it was usually a place of incredible peace, but now the tree and its environs looked sick. The bark was a dull gray and the leaves had taken on the yellowish hue of the vines that choked its base. The appearance and the aura the tree put out gave her chills.

She engaged several cultists as she circled the tree, fighting with righteous anger at what they had done to this beautiful place. She couldn't help wondering if she _had_ become more attuned with the Wyrd the evening before with all the blessings the sisters bestowed on her. She certainly _felt_ like she was part of the tree, and she fought like mad to save it. With only minor injuries, she took down several cultists and retrieved the portal stones. There were four shacks, one at each directional point on the map, and Amelia entered them and used the stones and incantation to open doorways for the Wyresses to come through and work their magic.

She finally used Wyress Gwen's stone and brought her to the door of the tree. "What's next?" she asked.

"Now we need to summon the Guardians. With their help, we can cleanse this place of Angof's foul influence. But his cursed vines choke their totems and prevent them from getting near the tree. The vines around the totems, and the specters that guard them, must be destroyed."

"Where do I find the totems?"

"The totem for the Guardian of the Air is up the hill to the north. The Guardian of the Earth, in the meadow to the east. The Guardian of the Water, in the swamps to the south, near the waterfall."

"I'm off, then."

Amelia trekked up a nearby hill and found the totem in a clearing behind a large rock formation. It was little more than a skull on a stick, but it radiated powerful magic. But the magic was . . . off, though, choked by the vine wrapping around the totem. She used her flame sword and chopped it at the base, and the vine disintegrated with a screech.

The Guardian of the Air appeared next to her. "Retribution must be swift," she declared. "The Wyrd Tree must continue to reach for the sky; you must defeat the Corruption of Air. When I call, come to me and I'll protect you."

There was a sudden shriek behind her, and Amelia was yanked backward. She turned around to peer into the face of a specter with empty eyes and a gaping, toothless maw. It was cloaked in rags that flowed around it as if blown by an invisible wind, and a red light glowed around it as well. She swung her blades for all she was worth as the ghost cast life-stealing magic over her.

"The tide turns," said the Guardian. "Come to me!"

Amelia retreated to the shelter of the Guardian, and though the spirit tried to jerk her back again, the Guardian held her fast, healing her and returning the life that was stolen from her. But she couldn't fight it from behind the Guardian, so she had to charge forward once more. She finally managed to take the specter down, and she collapsed next to the totem, exhausted.

The Guardian of the Air drifted over to her and waved a hand, and Amelia instantly felt better. "You have done well," said the Guardian, "but there is no time to rest. The totems of earth and water still stand corrupted. Go now."

Amelia nodded and got up, then headed down the hill and east toward the meadow where the earth totem rested. She had to fight a lurcher and a Bloodthorn cultist on the way, but she persevered with grim determination. She was getting really tired of Angof and his Bloodthorns.

The fights at the earth and water totems were much the same as with the air totem, almost as if they were scripted. The Guardians protected her from the specters and healed each injury, and they continued to take away her physical exhaustion, but they couldn't do anything about the mental weariness. She needed to rest, but they had to take the tree first.

After the totems were cleansed, Amelia met Wyress Gwen at the entrance.

"I can feel the oppressive weight of Angof's corruption lifting!" Gwen exclaimed. "I sense the gratitude of the Guardians, but I also sense . . . fear. Angof's vermin are afraid of you. The spirits of corruption have been destroyed, I take it?"

"Yes, they're gone."

"You've done well, Champion. There's one more challenge we have to face."

"The tree."

Gwen nodded. "We cleansed the land around the tree, but the corruption still festers in its heart. Angof's last wraith rests within the tree and won't be banished easily, but the Guardians will help you."

Amelia sighed heavily. "All right. Here I go." She opened the door and stepped into the heart of the Wyrd Tree.

In other circumstances, it would be a place of beauty. The heart of the tree was a great, arched chamber surrounded by huge roots, and light from an invisible source illuminated the chamber. A pool rested in the center, and delicate blue flowers grew on the banks among sacred stones. The Guardians were there, hovering just above the bank. But the vines also encircled the pool and wrapped around the roots, strangling the life out of them and casting deep shadows around the perimeter. The pool was murky and foul smelling, and yellow mist rose from the surface. And in the center floated Angof's wraith. It looked like the other ones, cloaked, glowing red, radiating malice, but it was quite a bit bigger.

"Quickly!" said the Guardian of the Water. "Destroy this foulness! Set the Wyrd Tree free!"

Amelia didn't care how big it was. It was time to end this. She charged the creature before it could pull her to itself, and she danced around it, swinging her blades and connecting with its rags time and again. It cast its life-sucking spell on her, though, and she tired quickly.

"To me!" called the Guardian of the Air. Amelia fell back to the Guardian, who protected her from the wraith's onslaught long enough to heal her, and then she went back out.

She knew the only reason her energy held out was the assistance she was getting from the Guardians, but she put it to good use. Splashing through the water and wielding her swords with a speed she had never known, she hacked away at the wraith, taking one more break to be healed before wearing it down. It dissipated at last into a blast of red light.

But another specter filled the space, this one just a vision, a projection that could only be Angof himself. She stepped back to the protection of the Guardian of the Water, but as she looked at this vision, she realized that whatever he was—Gravesinger, Reachman, necromancer, tainted by evil—he was just a man. For all his power, he was just a man, and she could defeat him.

"Fool!" Angof snarled, "you have destroyed one of my slaves, but I have so many more."

"And I'll destroy them too," Amelia retorted. "And you."

Without another word, the vision vanished, as did the Guardians. Amelia was alone in the heart of the Wyrd Tree. She watched as the vines retreated from the roots, almost as though they were growing in reverse, and the water began to clear. Before long, it was as though the corruption had never existed. Amelia felt great relief, and her heart filled with joy.

Gwen stepped through the door and joined her. "It's so beautiful!" she said. "Thanks to you, the Wyrd Tree has been restored."

"I was just glad I could help."

"Thank the Guardians you did! Although I was in the guard before, the Wyrd are not fighters and we were losing this battle. But you have won it for us."

All of a sudden, Amelia's euphoria fell away and exhaustion set in. Before she could respond to Wyress Gwen, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed into a dead faint.

* * *

She awoke in one of the huts outside the Wyrd Tree with Wyress Gwen sitting next to her cot. "You're awake," she acknowledged.

"How long was I out?"

"Two days. Your battles took a lot out of you, and you needed rest."

"Thanks for taking care of me," she said, sitting up.

Gwen handed her a bowl of stew. "Eat. Regain your strength."

Amelia took the stew and spooned it into her mouth. It was delicious, and she was ravenous. When she was finished eating, she said, "So. What's next?"

"A hunter, Gloria Fausta, came looking for help while you were asleep. I'm ashamed to say we turned her away, but as I said, none of us are fighters. But you might be able to help her."

"Where did she go?"

"Aldcroft. She said werewolves had captured Camlorn and the duke had fled. Chamberlain Weller in Aldcroft should know more."

Amelia sighed. "Couldn't it be somewhere other than Aldcroft?"

"I'm sorry?"

"My hometown. And not a happy place for me. Still, I won't abandon them if they're in need."

"Rest for a day or two; regain your strength before you head out. If you're going to be fighting werewolves, you'll need it."

"Is there any chance you can get a message to Daggerfall? I have a friend who's sort of a werewolf expert."

"Of course."

"Just send a message to Kireina Skaarsgard. You can send it care of Aresin, Captain of the Guard; he'll know where to find her."

"It will be done today. But for now, you must rest."

Amelia reached out and took Wyress Gwen's hand. "Thank you for everything, Gwen."

"No, Red. Thank _you_."

Gwen left the hut and Amelia lay back on the cot. Aldcroft, ugh. Well, just because she was going there didn't mean she had to see _him._ Who was she kidding? Of course it did. The village wasn't that big. But she had come a long way since the last time, and she had no reason to be afraid anymore.

If that was so, why did the mere mention of her hometown give her chills?

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	6. Soulless 6 - Aldcroft

Soulless Six

Aldcroft

It was raining when Amelia arrived in Aldcroft, although in her mind, even the rain couldn't make the town more depressing. The townspeople would tell you that it was a thriving hub of the shipping industry, but while cargo ships did indeed dock there, the village itself was a sty, a few hovels centered around an open-air market and dock area, with a handful of campsites thrown in for good measure. A dozen or so decent houses were scattered here and there, but they only served to make the rest of the town seem more desolate. It rested at the southeastern edge of the Glenumbra Moors, and with Iliac Bay directly to the east, there wasn't a lot of dry land, only a series of small islands connected to each other by footbridges. One road led out of town and met up with a major thoroughfare that connected it to Daggerfall and Camlorn. The humidity was oppressive year round, not to mention the stench of rot and fish. She had been used to it growing up, but it was amazing how being away for a few years could make a person forget. Either that, or it had gotten worse over time.

She stopped at the top of the bridge on the way into town, looking from house to house and hovel to hovel, dreading actually going in. She was tempted to turn and leave them to their fate, but her conscience just wouldn't allow it. Besides, if what she heard was true, the people of Camlorn might be in danger as well. Thus, with a deep breath and a slight tremble in her hands, she went on across the bridge. The first thing she noticed, even from the edge of town, was that Aldcroft had tripled in size since she had been there. Most of the new people were set up on the docks, near the bridges, or in a military encampment near the big gates onto the moors. She stopped to ask one of the people camping near the bridge what was going on.

"Refugees," the man said, "from Camlorn."

"Then it's true?"

He nodded. "You heard about the werewolves, then?"

"I did. Thank you, friend." She turned and went farther into town, heading toward Chamberlain Weller's house.

She found him standing on the front porch with a couple of townspeople. "Red!" said the chamberlain. "I must confess I didn't expect to ever see you again."

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said coldly.

He had the good grace to look embarrassed. "It is good to see you, I assure you."

"Whatever. I was sent by the Beldama Wyrd. Apparently a hunter named Gloria Fausta was asking for help, and I was told to come see you."

Weller shrugged. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name. Duke Sebastien of Camlorn was kidnapped; perhaps she was taken along with him. I wouldn't put it past those damn Bloodthorns."

"The Bloodthorns are behind this?"

"Oh, yes. And you came to help? Are you saying you want to help Aldcroft, Red?"

"I'm here to help the duke and see what can be done about the werewolves. And I don't work for free. Now, tell me what happened."

"These bumbling town guards allowed him to get abducted, that's what happened!"

"Bumbling?" she echoed with amusement.

"At least the Lion Guard has arrived to pick up the slack from the town guards, but I'm sure they could use help. I know you can handle yourself."

Amelia sighed. "What do you need me to do?"

"Speak to Lieutenant Harim. He's at the lighthouse."

"The lighthouse? Really?"

Chamberlain Weller shrugged apologetically. "He was scouting out there, I'm sorry."

"Well, tell me about this duke."

"He loves his people and they love him. I don't know what else there is to tell. He was driven out of Camlorn by Falchou and his werewolves, along with the rest of the population."

"Any idea what the Bloodthorns are planning?"

"I could guess. Most of our force is besieging Camlorn, so Aldcroft is vulnerable. There's no leadership with the duke out of commission, so the Bloodthorns can take Aldcroft and then hit the Camlorn forces from the rear."

"Isn't that kind of . . . backhanded?"

"Who can understand their reasoning?"

"You said there's no leadership here. What about you and my father?"

"I'm no good with military strategy, and your father is at Camlorn."

"He left his own men to go where he thought the best action would be. I take it that's why you said the town guards were bumbling?"

"Not so much bumbling as disorganized."

Amelia rolled her eyes. She hated this city more with every word out of Weller's mouth. "I suppose it never occurred to one of his lieutenants to step up and take over, did it? Or did he take all of his officers with him and leave the young grunts to pick up the slack? All right, fine. I'll find Lieutenant Harim out by the lighthouse."

The lighthouse was set apart from Aldcroft proper and stood a short distance down the shore along with a few houses. This was the upper-class part of town, the beachfront homes of Aldcroft's rich and famous, including her father, who was captain of the guard and second in rank only to Chamberlain Weller. Amelia had grown up with the rays of the lighthouse and the sound of waves crashing on the shore coming in her bedroom window. It should have been a magical place to grow up. Funny how life can take the beauty out of things. Then again, it wasn't really life at all, just one man.

She made her way up the path and over several footbridges until she passed the place she had once called home, a two-story stone house with a vegetable garden in the yard. It was dark now, what with her father being gone and all, and she was just as glad for it. She wouldn't have to deal with the bastard.

A Redguard in a Lion Guard uniform knelt at the end of a footbridge between her father's house and the lighthouse. He was crouched in the brush, silently watching the activity across the bridge.

"Are you Lieutenant Harim?" she asked, crouching next to him.

"Watch yourself," he whispered. "This place is thick with Bloodthorn cultists."

"I'm here to help rescue the Duke. Chamberlain Weller sent me."

He looked her over dubiously. "I need a seasoned warrior."

"I'm older than I look, and I know what I'm doing."

"Very well. The duke is in the lighthouse, but we'll have to wait for reinforcements before going in."

"How many are there?"

"Cultists? From what I've seen, I'd say four between us and him."

Amelia nodded. "Not a problem. I'll get the duke. You just make sure none of the cultists slips away."

"You're a bold one. Are you _sure_ you know what you're doing?"

"I guess we'll find out."

She rose up a bit and looked the connecting island over. One cultist stood at the end of the bridge and one was at the door to the lighthouse. Another sat next to the lighthouse drinking from a tankard. He would die first. She stepped off the land and into the knee-deep water, wading slowly and quietly across to the opposite shore, where she drew one sword and slipped up behind the drinker. Swiftly and silently, she drew her blade across his throat, and he fell from his chair before he had the chance to cry out.

The other two wouldn't be as easy; they were too close to each other to take out without notice, although she did have a couple of good spells to assist her. Amelia stepped back into the water, wading toward the bridge. If she used her Veiled Strike spell, she could do some damage to the cultist by the bridge before he alerted the one at the door. She crept closer and closer, until she was less than fifteen feet from him; then she pointed her free hand toward him and whispered the incantation. Pale light shot forth from her hand and hit him like dozens of tiny daggers.

The cultist gasped and swayed on his feet, stunned by the blast. With this, Amelia darted up behind him and thrust her sword into his side.

"What the—" the cultist at the door began. She came running toward the bridge just as the first cultist recovered and turned on Amelia. But the spell had done its job; he was already injured and fell to another strike of Amelia's sword before the woman reached them. She pulled her sword from the dead cultist's chest and drew her second one to challenge the remaining cultist, who came at her with twin daggers.

"Daggers?" Amelia teased. "Aww, isn't that cute!"

"You'll die by these daggers." She darted past Amelia's swords and stabbed her in the stomach before she could dodge.

"Damn it! All right, so you're fast." Turning swiftly, she swung her shock sword around and caught the cultist in the shoulder. The woman cried out and swiped with a dagger, laying a deep gash in Amelia's right arm. But in the end, her blades were just too small, and she didn't survive Amelia's next blow with the flame sword. Hoping nobody else heard the muffled cheer from Lieutenant Harim, Amelia dragged the two cultists down the bank to hide them and made her way to the lighthouse door.

Harim had estimated four people between them and the duke. If that was so, then one cultist lay in wait inside the lighthouse. It was a variable she didn't like, but there was nothing for it. Her Shadow Cloak spell would render her invisible for two and a half seconds, which was longer than it seemed. Anyone in the room would know she was there, just by the opening of the door, but it might give her an extra second or two to launch an attack. She raised her hand, which vanished when she whispered the incantation, and opened the door.

The cultist inside the lighthouse didn't realize what was going on at first. He looked up at the mysteriously opening door and stared at it curiously, giving Amelia time to reach him before she became visible again. She got in a good jab, but he backed away quickly and leveled a palm at her, calling a fireball into his hand, and lobbed it toward her head. Dodging but still getting singed, Amelia charged him and ran him through before he could get off another shot.

"You're doing to die," he whispered smugly as she was removing her sword. "You're _all_ going to die, and Angof will raise you to serve in his army." He perished with a sinister grin on his face.

"Okay, well, that was disconcerting." She wiped the blood from her sword and assessed her injuries. She drank one of the Wyresses' powerful concoctions to help the stab wound and the burns, but the gash in her arm was going to need stitches. Unfortunately, she hadn't thought to ask the Wyresses for anything to stitch herself up if necessary. She knew from playing around the lighthouse as a child that a medical kit was in a cabinet by the ladder, so she went to the cabinet and found the kit still intact. As quickly as she could with one hand, she worked around the blood and put a few rough sutures into the wound. It took way too long, and she was afraid someone would walk in at any time, but no one entered in the fifteen minutes or so it took to stitch the gash and bandage it. When she was finished, she drank another healing potion, stuffed the remainder of the bandages, catgut, needles, and salves from the med kit into her knapsack, and started up the ladder.

The duke was at the top, tied up and surrounded by a filmy ward. Two dark-purple crystals floated in the air, keeping the ward in place.

"You don't look like a Bloodthorn cultist," said the duke, a distinguished-looking Breton in his late forties, as he struggled against his bonds. "I assume this is a rescue attempt?"

"Not just an attempt. I'm going to get you out of here."

"You'll need to smash the focus crystals. I'm a bit of a mage, but I'm afraid I'm powerless with this ward around me."

Amelia drew her shock sword and swung at the first crystal. It cracked but held firm, so she swung again as hard as she could. This time it shattered, and the duke groaned in pain.

"Sorry."

"It's all right. It only hurt a little. Now the second one."

She smashed the second crystal with no trouble, and the duke sighed with relief.

"Thank you—what's your name?"

"Amelia."

"Thank you, Amelia, but I'm not the only prisoner. There's a woman, apparently someone who poses a threat to the beasts. They plan to execute her."

"Any idea where she is?"

"I heard the cultists talking; they have her in one of the nearby houses. I'll get myself out of here. You go find her."

"I'm not going to just let you run off unprotected, Your Grace. We'll go downstairs together, and I'll make sure the coast is clear. A Lion Guard lieutenant is waiting just across the bridge, and he can get you the rest of the way to safety."

"Agreed. When you find her, I'll want to speak to her. If she really is a threat to them, perhaps she can help us."

She led the duke downstairs and waited until he was safely across the bridge, then turned to search the other houses. There were three on the island with the lighthouse, and after fighting a handful of cultists, she found the woman in the house on the end. The one-room cottage was home to a merchant and his wife, but the interior was ransacked and the merchant lay dead on the floor. The wife was nowhere to be seen, but the woman Amelia was looking for was tied up in the center of the room.

"You wouldn't happen to be Gloria Fausta, would you?"

The woman raised an eyebrow in response. "They sent _you_ to be my executioner? You couldn't lift the axe, let alone deal with all the blood."

"Be nice; I'm here to free you."

"Splendid! Cut me loose and we'll go kill Falchou and his werewolf dogs!"

As she cut Gloria free, she said, "I hear you pose a threat to them."

"Let's just say I have a unique perspective, some inside knowledge that will help put an end to the mangy dog."

"We need to go back to Aldcroft before we go for Falchou. Duke Sebastien wants to speak with you."

She stood up and rubbed her wrists, which were raw from the binds. "I don't have time to talk with the duke—oh, very well. Let's just get this over with."

Amelia reluctantly lent Gloria one of her swords, and they made their way back to Aldcroft together. They only encountered two cultists—a pair she had missed on her way in—and they made short work of them. When they arrived in town, they went to Chamberlain Weller's house to see the duke.

He was sitting in the living room with his wife and daughter. He pulled Gloria aside for a lengthy discussion, during which Lady Sebastian expressed her undying gratitude to Amelia for saving her husband. After a few moments, the duke called Amelia over.

"Gloria has expressed serious concerns about Camlorn and Aldcroft with respect to Falchou and the werewolves," he told her, "and I share those concerns. We would likely be dead if not for you, and you have our thanks. I'm hoping we can count on you to help us eliminate the werewolves."

"I'll do what I can."

"Gloria suspects Falchou's agents are among us, here and now."

"You mean in Aldcroft?"

"We believe they may be hiding among the refugees on the docks," said Gloria. "You and I are going to root them out and kill them."

"But how do we do that? Werewolves can hide in human form; they're practically undetectable."

Gloria pulled an amulet from around her neck and handed it to Amelia. "This can locate hidden werewolves. We'll have to be careful, because they don't appreciate having their secrets revealed."

"Let's go, then."

"I need to stop by the Lion Guard encampment to arm myself first."

They left the duke's house and headed across town toward the camp. "So how does this amulet work?" Amelia asked on the way.

"It bears the Call of Hircine. Werewolves can't resist the call, and they're forced to reveal their true nature."

"Gloria, how do you know all this?"

"You should mind your own business!"

"So it's a big secret? That lends itself to all sorts of assumptions, now, doesn't it?"

Gloria sighed heavily. "All right, fine. I know so much about werewolves because I hunt them. Falchou is my ancestor, and my family has had to deal with that shame for generations. I do what I can to make up for the atrocities he perpetrated."

"Wait, he's your _ancestor_? I didn't know werewolves were long lived."

"Oh, Falchou is long dead. I don't know how, but he's back."

"Angof," Amelia said shortly. "He's a necromancer."

"And he raised him from the dead? Lovely."

After Gloria armed herself with a sword and shield, they began wandering the docks, surreptitiously holding the amulet toward refugees as they passed. Nothing happened initially, and Amelia began to wonder if it really worked, but then someone had a reaction.

"It hurts! My skin is on fire!" cried a man just outside one of the warehouses. He looked up and snarled at them, his eyes burning with fury. "I'll chew on your bones and gulp your blood!"

"Die, you werewolf scum!" Gloria cried.

He only took an instant to shift. They were on him immediately, three swords against his claws, but it was still a hairy fight. Refugees ran screaming as they battled the creature, blood and fur flying, cries of pain and angry snarls ringing through the air. Amelia came very close to being bitten, and Kireina briefly crossed her mind. Her friend wouldn't like it if someone else turned her.

When all was said and done, the werewolf lay dead on the ground, naked and in human form, and Amelia and Gloria were covered in blood and gore.

"Well," said the werewolf hunter. "That was fun."

"If you say so."

They found three more werewolves on the docks, and by the time they reported to the duke's house in the wee hours of the morning, they were exhausted. The duke sat by the fire nursing a brandy, and he sprung out of his seat when they entered.

"By the Eight! I assume by your appearances that Falchou's cursed offspring are here in Aldcroft."

"I'm afraid so, Your Grace," said Amelia.

"It seems that once again, I'm in your debt. As is Aldcroft. I've been informed by Chamberlain Weller that you're a sellsword. Be assured, Amelia, you will be well paid."

"Thank you. What's next?"

"What's next is we need to capture a live werewolf," said Gloria.

"Um, what?"

"You postulated that Falchou had been summoned from the dead by a necromancer. We need to learn more, and I doubt any of them are just going to give us information. I can do a ritual to force the information from them, but I need a live one."

"Understood. But tomorrow. You and I are both beat."

"Agreed." Gloria turned to the duke. "We'll find out how we can defeat Falchou and then report back here."

"Very good. And be careful."

* * *

After a bath and a good night's rest, Gloria prepared to set up her ritual in a cave on the shore north of Aldcroft. She directed Amelia to Sergeant Armoil Viranes, who evidently knew of a way to capture a werewolf.

"So you want to get one alive, eh?" said the sergeant, a heavily armored soldier with a shaven head and a stern visage.

"Yes. Gloria Fausta said you could help me with that."

"Indeed I can. We captured a werewolf at Camlorn, for a little while, at least. Lexi! Front and center!"

A pixie-cute soldier in leather armor emerged from a tent and dashed over. She couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. "Yes, Sergeant!"

"This is Battlemage Lexi. Lexi, our friend here needs to capture a werewolf."

"Right, I can help with that." She turned to Amelia. "So here's what we'll do: you fight the werewolf and keep it busy, but don't kill it. I'll cast a spell to enthrall it. Just do your part and leave the magic to me. I'm an expert."

"Will do. Thank you, Sergeant."

"Good luck."

Amelia and Lexi made their way out of the large military gates on the north side of Aldcroft and headed out onto the moors. The smell of rot was even more prominent out here. The ground was soft and soggy, completely submerged in many places. Low hillocks were home to crocodiles, nirnroot, and water hyacinth. And werewolves. Looking out across the expanse of the moors, Amelia spotted three of them.

"Divines preserve us," Lexi muttered softly.

"Don't worry; they're fairly spread out. We shouldn't have to bother with more than one if we're lucky. Let's go."

They sloshed across the landscape until one of the beasts picked up their scents and charged them. Amelia fought it off while Lexi cast her spell, and suddenly the werewolf gagged and choked, then fell dead in the water.

"Er, I think that time I overdid it. Let's get another one."

While Lexi cast her spell, Amelia engaged the next werewolf, keeping a careful eye on the third one, who was a bit too close for comfort. It was busy eating a crocodile, though, and ignored them. She managed a few crippling strikes before Lexi said, "Got him!"

But like the first one, it gagged and perished.

"No, no, I haven't. Oh, mudcrabs. Now we need another werewolf."

They approached the werewolf eating the crocodile, and Lexi cast her spell again. This time a glimmering ward appeared around the beast, and he howled in frustration.

"By Julianos, it worked!"

"Thanks, Lexi," said Amelia, doing her best to suppress her annoyance at having to fight three werewolves while the young mage fumbled with the spell. "I'll take him to the cave, and you get back to Aldcroft."

She led the werewolf across the moors and around the narrow bayshore to the cave. He followed along, cursing at her every step of the way, but she ignored him. She could understand his anger, but she didn't want to start a conversation with him, so she stayed quiet.

Gloria was waiting for them deep inside the cave, in the center of a small henge. She stood among several altars, which were laden with candles, herbs, and crystals. "You caught one! Good, let's get him into the circle. I'll create a link between the three of us so we can see into the werewolf's past—and hopefully Falchou's past as well. The connection between sire and offspring is strong."

Amelia pointed to the center of the circle and said, "Stand there."

The werewolf growled at her but obeyed.

Amelia stood next to Gloria, who held her hands out and muttered an incantation. The ward around the werewolf glowed, and a ghostly shape appeared behind him. Amelia thought someone was actually there for a moment, but then she realized it was only a memory, a vision. And it was a face she recognized.

"Now the legendary werewolf lord shall fulfill Molag Bal's purpose!" Angof boasted. "Arise, minion. Arise from the dead!"

A werewolf crawled out of the ground before Angof and growled. "I serve no one, Reachman!"

"Serve or suffer, cur! I've bound you to my will."

Falchou thrashed, crying out in agony until he finally relented. "Yes! Yes, I will submit to you!" He stopped writhing and snarled, "But know this: one day soon I will rip out your heart and eat it whole."

"Empty boasts from Molag Bal's newest slave. Come, Falchou. We have business."

The image faded, leaving only Amelia, Gloria, and the captured werewolf.

"So it _was_ Angof," said Gloria.

"No surprise, really. But Angof and Falchou working together—the implications are terrifying."

"The only way to stop Falchou is to kill Angof."

"You! Humans!" the werewolf called. They turned to him and he said, "You are fools. You have failed; your duke has been given Hircine's blessing, and he will destroy everything he loves. Now release me or kill me. Just get on with it!"

Amelia drew her flame sword and swung it, laying open the werewolf's throat with the odor of blood and burning fur. It collapsed to the floor before her.

"Shit!" Gloria groaned.

"Is there anything we can do?"

"There is, but I've learned a bit about you over the last couple of days and you're not going to like it. I need to die, and you need to take my blood."

"What? You can't be serious."

"Red, we're wasting time! I'm Falchou's ancestor. If administered in time, the blood of the master can cure the spawn. The duke has to drink my blood."

"Oh, sweet Akatosh, I hate this."

"But you know I'm right." She went over to one of the altars and picked up a vial. "This poison will kill me quickly, and then you must take my blood. I brought a cup for it just in case."

"You knew this would happen."

"I suspected. Swear to me you'll finish what we started. Save the duke and restore my family's honor."

"It will be done, Gloria."

"Bottoms up." Gloria hesitated for just a moment before turning up the bottle and drinking the potion, and within seconds she started to sway on her feet. Her legs buckled beneath her, and by the time she reached the ground, she was dead.

"Damn it," Amelia whispered. But she did what had to be done. She went to the altar and picked up the cup, then returned to Gloria's body. She slit her throat and held the cup in the stream of blood, squeezing back tears. When it was just over half full, she pulled it away. "I'm so sorry, my friend."

With that, she left Gloria alone in the cave.

* * *

The duke wasn't in the living room when she arrived at the house, and she found him upstairs, curled up on the bedroom floor. His wife and daughter knelt beside him.

"I apologize to all of you," he said painfully. "I thought I could fight this off; I was wrong."

Amelia held the cup out to him. "Drink this. It will help."

He took the cup and looked into it. "Blood, I take it?"

"Gloria's. She was Falchou's descendant. She said his blood should cure your lycanthropy."

"Divines rest her soul. Just one more thing Falchou must pay for. Her body is still in the cave?"

Amelia nodded. "She needs to be given a proper burial."

"I'll take care of it." Grimacing, he drank the blood and sat quietly for a few moments before sighing with relief. "And the pain fades. Thank you again, Amelia. My nightmare is over, and I can return to Camlorn."

"No!" cried Lady Sebastien. "You can't go back there."

"You will stay here in safety, but I have to go back and fight." He looked up at Amelia. "We have another problem, though. We can kill Falchou, but Angof will only raise him again."

"How do we prevent that?"

"I have friends in the Mages Guild who are working on the problem. They're trying to discover how he originally died. A few of them have gone to a fort on Glenumbra Moors, where Falchou died for the first time. Meet them there and see if you can figure out a way to put an end to him for good. Oh, and here." He nodded to Lady Sebastien, who handed Amelia a sizeable sack full of gold.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"After I rest a bit, I'll return to Camlorn. I hope to see you there soon, Amelia."

"I'll be there as soon as I find out how to defeat Falchou. I've sent word to a friend, asking for help. If she arrives before you leave, tell her where to find me."

"Of course."

She nodded to Sebastien's wife and daughter and left the house.

Chamberlain Weller met her going in. "Red, we owe you a great debt for clearing the town of werewolves."

"Chamberlain, you owed me a great debt before I crossed the bridge into town. As far as I'm concerned, you can all rot in Oblivion. What I did, I didn't do for the people of Aldcroft. I would have done the same for any town in Glenumbra because it was right to do so, no matter what my personal feelings were, and because I was getting paid. But don't expect me ever to offer my aid again, for any price."

The chamberlain looked as though he had been slapped, an expression that gave Amelia immense satisfaction. "You're going to Camlorn, I take it?"

"Eventually."

"Your father will be there, you know."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid of him anymore. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a werewolf to track." She turned her back on the chamberlain and headed out of town toward the moors.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


	7. Soulless 7 - Time Magic

Soulless Seven

Time Magic

At the center of the vast swamp that was Glenumbra Moors lay the site of an ancient battle between the Direnni and the Alessians. They called it a fort, but there really wasn't much to it except for a few rotting log walls and a cave with a heavy door. Today it was teeming with people, mostly mages, who stood outside the gate, peering onto the battlefield or casting spells. A large tent stood off to one side, and smaller ones were placed nearby.

An officious-looking orc stood near the gate, and Amelia went up to her. "Excuse me," she said. "I'm looking for whoever is in charge. I'm from Aldcroft."

"Ah, a messenger! You can talk to me; I'm Conjuror Grahla."

"I'm Red."

With a chuckle, she said, "You certainly are. What news from Aldcroft? We heard refugees from Camlorn inundated the village."

"Not just refugees. Werewolves tried to take over the town, but we were able to stop them."

"Good, good. Losing Camlorn was bad enough. We've made significant progress here, however. Our research is finally beginning to yield results. Now if we can just get past the ghosts."

"Ghosts?"

"As I'm sure you know, Faolchu fought and died on this battlefield all those years ago, but they didn't call him the Invincible General for nothing. You could cut him, bash him, fill him full of arrows, and nothing dropped him."

"Obviously _something_ killed him."

"That's what we're trying to find out. If we can discover how he died, it will offer clues as to how to defeat him now."

"And how do we do that?"

"Sarvith, our Master of Incunabula, hopes to evoke a vision that shows us the events surrounding Faolchu's death. There are powerful historic artifacts on the field that will help us with that. Unfortunately, the ghosts are making that very difficult."

"Ghosts?"

"It's been an age since the battle, but the spirits still linger."

"I'll handle the ghosts."

"A handful of mages and Lion Guard soldiers are working on clearing the field as well."

"Any idea what I should be looking for?"

"The generals of the Alessian army played a vital part in the Battle of Glenumbra Moors. Their weapons, if still intact, would suffice as focus objects for our spell. If you can get your hands on them, take them to Sarvith in the tent. In fact, speak to him before you go out there. He might be able to offer some insight."

Amelia went to the large tent, where an Altmer with redder hair than hers spoke to an orc with an expression of derision on his face.

"It's true!" Sarvith said, "Faolchu was as tall as a tree, with claws like greatswords."

"Yes, yes," the orc grumbled, "and he breathed fire and ate warriors for dinner, armor and all. Give me a break, Sarvith."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Amelia called from the door.

The elf looked over and gave her a toothy smile. "So you're here to help, eh? We heard you out there with Grahla. Bhagrun here claims that the threat Faolchu poses is greatly exaggerated. But he's an orc, right? They slay dragons before breakfast."

"There's no such thing as dragons, you idiot," said Bhagrun.

"Poor fool wouldn't know a moth from a mammoth."

Amelia chuckled uncomfortably. "Grahla said you might have some advice for fighting the spirits on the battlefield."

"There are two types, as far as we can tell," Bhagrun told her, "wraiths and the ghosts of former soldiers. Neither seems to die any more easily than the other."

"Do you have any magic?" Sarvith asked.

She nodded. "I'm a nightblade."

"A nightblade, very good! Well, fight the ones you must, and use your shadow spells to sneak around the rest. Your swords should be useful, and some of your siphoning spells might help as well. We were attempting some drain essence spells on the spirits and they seemed to work."

"I'll be back as soon as I can."

She left the tent and made her way onto the field, where she saw a battle that was surely as bloody as the one that had taken place so many years ago. The living fought the dead, and blood and slimy ectoplasm covered the area. The ghosts did fall to swords—and to flame spells, apparently—but their ethereal blades seemed to do as much damage to the live soldiers.

A wraith attacked Amelia before she went twenty feet, and she engaged the creature in much the same way as she had the one inside the Wyrd Tree. She drew on the memory of how she had danced around the wraith while aided by the guardians and was appreciative to see that although she didn't retain the magical energy, she did remember how she had moved. The first few spirits were a cake walk, but when she approached a tent and came upon three of the ectoplasmic soldiers, she had a real fight on her hands.

"Intruder!" the one in the middle cried. He was wearing more elaborate armor than the others, and Amelia figured he was one of the generals.

The soldiers attacked, and she cast an Agony spell at the general, stunning him. While he was incapacitated, she spun from one soldier to the other, dodging blades and ducking in for quick jabs. They finally dropped just as the general recovered and charged forward. He was tougher than his lieutenants, and Amelia took a few slices to her side and arms, but nothing serious. She parried a rapid jab to her midsection with her shock sword and countered with a similar thrust with her flame sword. He backed up with an "oof" but didn't go down. Instead, he swung his blade at her head, and she had to duck to avoid being decapitated. While she was low, she thrust again with the fire sword, and he finally dropped. He remained in corporeal form for a moment, and she tried to take the sword, but though it had certainly felt real when it was slicing into her skin, she couldn't touch it now.

How was she going to take the sword with her if she couldn't pick it up? Would some kind of spell do it? Even if it would, she was no mage. Her nightblade spells were for combat. There was nothing in her repertoire for picking up ghostly weapons. But suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the sun glinting off metal. She turned her head to see the same sword—the real one—sticking up out of the ground. "Oh, thank the gods," she muttered as she walked over and wrestled it out of the soil. She tucked it into her belt and moved on to see what else she could find.

Over the next half hour she managed to collect three swords and a host of minor to medium injuries. When she returned to Sarvith, she was covered head to toe with blood.

"Ah, the focus objects!" he exclaimed joyfully when she handed them the swords. Then the smile drained from his face. "You look terrible! Bhagrun?"

The orc stepped forward with a healing staff and cast golden light over her body. He even had her turn around so he could get her back. In just a couple of minutes, all the smarts and stings melted away until all that was left was the blood. "Better?" Bhagrun asked.

"Much, thank you."

"Now," said Sarvith, "let's just" —the pommel of one of the swords broke free and clattered to the ground—"Hmm, I don't think that was supposed to come off. They're pretty beat up, but we should have plenty of material for the ritual. Would you care to join us?"

"Sure," Amelia replied with a shrug. She followed them out of the tent to an open area where Sarvith placed one of the swords on the ground between himself and Bhagrun. "What are you doing, exactly?" she asked.

"If this works, we should be able to peer into the past and hopefully see what happened to Faolchu. We'll be using an amalgamated essence of the past, focused with these ancient weapons, to open a sort of window into history. Now, stand back. You never know when a spell is going to backfire."

Amelia backed up, and the Altmer and orc extended their arms toward the sword. Bright blue light shot out from their hands and met in the center, glowing up around the sword. Suddenly a figure appeared in the nimbus.

"Please, you must listen!" said a female voice.

Then the specter disappeared and the light exploded outward, sending shockwaves toward Sarvith and Bhagrun and knocking them both to the ground.

Amelia rushed over to the mages as they got up and dusted themselves off. "Are you all right?"

"All right?" Sarvity echoed. "Of course we're all right! We did it! I think."

"Who was the woman?"

"A fragment from the past, someone who was pulled forward with the spell."

"You mean that was supposed to happen?"

"Well . . . no, but it just means we did better than expected. We didn't create a window to the past; we opened a _door_ into the past! We need only step through."

"And by 'we,' you mean me."

Sarvith lifted his palms to her in supplication. "It has to be you. Who else is brave and rash enough to do it? I'm too important to get stuck in the past, and Bhagrun would probably change history with all his bumbling about."

"Hey!"

The Altmer ignored him. "Go ask Grahla what she thinks we should do."

Amelia went to Grahla, who was involved in a heated discussion with two other mages. She stepped away from them when she saw Amelia.

"We heard an explosion, and then ripples of magical distortion started to sweep across the battlefield. What did they do?"

"They opened a door into history."

"What! They were supposed to cast a simple divination spell, nothing more. Those idiots!"

"Sarvith thinks we can use the door to go back in time and learn about Faolchu's death firsthand."

Grahla shook her head. "I don't like this. Time magic shouldn't be meddled with. But what's done is done, so maybe we can get some use out of it. There are fewer spirits to contend with by now, so maybe you won't have so much trouble getting onto the battlefield. Go out there and examine the ripples created by the spell to see if there really is a doorway. But keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary. There's no telling what else they pulled from the past."

"Understood."

Although she figured the mages were better suited for such a task, Amelia drew her swords and stepped back out onto the battlefield. The ripples were easy to see; blue nimbuses glimmered in several locations across the field. The spirits had greatly decreased in number, and she made it to the first ripple without incident. It was centered around a barren tree, an azure glow with small tendrils of purple lightning flickering through the branches. Looking closely at it, she could see nothing that might be useful, but then again, how would she know? She reached toward the ripple, and there was a slight shock and a distinct drop in temperature as her hand met the light.

With a whoosh, the ghostly figure from Sarvith's spell appeared in the nimbus. "You seek to the see into the past. I can guide you."

"Who are you?"

"I am Alana Relin. I died on this battlefield long ago. Go to the crypt. I'll meet you there and show you how to discover the secret you seek." With that, she disappeared.

Amelia looked across the battlefield and finally set her eyes on the crypt, which was in a remote corner. Strangely, it was the only one around. She crossed the field, fighting a couple of ghosts along the way, but made it to the tomb relatively unscathed. She was prepared to pick the lock, but she found the door open, so she carefully descended the stairs.

The room was deserted except for a solitary skeleton, and she was encouraged to see that it wasn't up and walking around. It lay before a sarcophagus, wearing a suit of Direnni armor. The ghost slowly coalesced into view between Amelia and the skeleton. Alana was Breton, pretty, around thirty years old, and she wore armor to the skeleton's, although not as elaborately embellished.

"This is where it all started on the day of the final battle," she said nostalgically. "We gave up everything to kill Faolchu. I'll be damned if I'm going to let him be resurrected and curse the world again."

"Is that why you've returned?"

"I've returned because of what the one I love did to save his people."

"What did he do?"

"He sacrificed . . . everything." She nodded to the skeleton. "This armor belonged to my beloved and was buried here with him, in this place of honor. It was his hand that cut Faolchu down."

"And if I put it on?"

"You'll take the place of my beloved—you'll literally reside in his body—and relive the last moments of the battle. But be very careful; you won't just see the events of the past; you'll live them. It will be _your_ decisions that guide the path, and what you do may change the destiny of those around you."

"You mean I can change history? How is that even possible?"

"I can't say. Just know that I understand the terrible burden you must carry. When you are ready, put on the armor."

"What can I expect back there?"

"This was a violent, bloody time," Alana told her. "The Alessians were on a crusade to purge every mer who occupied the land."

"But you're Breton, not mer."

"Would _you_ stand idly by and watch innocents be slaughtered?"

"Fair enough. How will I return to the present?"

"When Faolchu dies, the armor will eject you from the past. You should return to the here and now, unharmed."

"You don't sound all that confident about that."

"No. No, that should . . . yes, I'm sure of it."

Amelia knelt next to the skeleton and perused the armor. "Do I need to put on the whole set? I don't think it's going to fit me."

"You're right, of course. The armor simply establishes a link with the past, so one piece should do it."

"I don't get this at all."

"You'll understand more as you go. But you're taking it all in stride."

Amelia shrugged. "I've seen some bizarre things these last few months. Kind of getting used to it." She took the pauldrons, pieces she didn't have on her own armor and those she figured would be easiest to get off the corpse. When she finished strapping them to her shoulders, dizziness came over her, and she began to hear sounds of battle up the stairs. She looked down at her hands, but they weren't hers at all; they were those of a man. "This is going to be so weird," she mused.

The dizziness went away after a moment, but it was replaced by confusion. She still knew who she was—sort of—but her thoughts and memories were accompanied by those of another, and she quickly lost track of which memories belonged to whom.

Alana, no longer ghostly but blonde, blue-eyed and beautiful, bounded down the stairs. "There you are, my love! I was starting to worry. Why do you linger in this musty crypt? Commander Parmion rallies the troops for his final assault. You should be at his side for the big moment."

"I'm—I'm not sure what's going on."

"Did that blow to your head rattle your senses?"

"Assume it did. I'm—who am I? What's going on?"

"You're Relin, Commander Parmion's best and most noble knight, you silly man. We're on the verge of turning the tide against Faolchu, and we'll launch our final attack on his headquarters shortly. Come, we have work to do."

"Remind me. What work is that?"

"The Alessian orders, of course. We captured the messenger, but not before he passed the orders off. We need to search enemy soldiers until we retrieve them."

"And I'm supposed to do that, right? I'm starting to remember." _Or am I starting to forget?_

Alana looked at him closely. "Are you sure you're all right, my love? If you're hurt too badly, someone else can retrieve the orders. I can go."

"No, I'm fine, still just a little shaken. I'm on my way to get those orders." He leaned in and kissed Alana softly.

_Was that right?_ came the thought. _Am I Sir Relin, or am I Amelia? Should I even be kissing this woman? Of course I should be kissing her. I'm just confused from the bump on the head._

"Do what you have to do and find those orders," she said, pulling away, "then find me at the camp. We need to talk."

She turned and went up the stairs, and he followed, watching her bum as she walked; then he turned left toward the Alessians' camp. He fought his way through, and though he didn't remember wielding twin swords in the past, he seemed to be very adept at it. His strength and experience were his own, but his speed and skills were . . . well, they belonged to Amelia, whoever she was. It also felt as though the last time he had crossed this field, he had been battling ghosts. Well, they were real now, and he roared victoriously with every Alessian he cut down.

He found the orders on a commander he slaughtered and made his way back to the Direnni side. When he was safe, he unrolled the scroll and read it. The orders indicated that the enemy was going to use the chaos from the attack to slip around and destroy the Direnni camp, then hit them from behind. A clever plan . . . and oddly familiar. He had heard something recently to the same effect. Something about werewolves and Aldcroft . . .

Relin shook his head to clear it and headed toward the command tent, where he met up with Commander Parmion.

The elf, distinctive by his piercing blue eyes and the gold ring he wore in his nose, placed his hands on his hips. "There you are, my knight. Did you recover the orders?"

"Aye, here they are. They plan to flank us, destroy the camp, and then assault from the rear."

"You are a credit to the Direnni guard," Parmion said proudly. "Now we can prepare a proper counterattack. Take these orders to the Alyeid King. He has just arrived and is eager to get involved."

"The Alyeid King is _here_?"

"Aye, surprised us all. Who would have thought he'd show such interest? But the mer is a brilliant tactician, and any help he's willing to give will be gladly accepted. In the meantime, I'll send Alana and her unit to put an end to Faolchu."

Relin gasped and his heart skipped a beat. "Alana? No! _I_ need to be the one to strike Faolchu down."

"Nonsense! Alana can handle it, and if these orders are any indication, I'll need you to lead our defenses."

No, this wasn't right. He couldn't remember why exactly, but he knew that he, and no one else, had to kill Faolchu. He placed his hands on his hips and paced back and forth nervously.

Parmion placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is the way it must be, Sir Relin. Speak to Alana before you go if you like. Just remember that time is of the essence. And don't forget to talk to the king."

"I'll go to him first."

He approached the king, who was standing near the command tent with a few of his soldiers, and bowed.

"A Breton fighting for the Direnni?" the king noted. "Not unheard of, I suppose, but surprising."

"There is a large contingent of us actually, Your Majesty."

"Your people are honorable. Wait, I recognize that armor. You're the one Parmion spoke so highly of, no? I've heard stories about you before, as well. They say you are blessed by Auri-El himself."

Relin cast his eyes away humbly and handed him the orders. "We recovered these from an Alessian soldier."

The king read the orders and chuckled. "The Alessians intend to slip past our defenses and catch the Direnni 'with their trousers down'? What a curious phrase."

"Any advice?"

"Your specialized armor possesses Direnni magic, no? Use it to spot Alessian Shadow Scouts before they can do any significant damage, and dispatch them." The king eyed him silently for a moment, then said, "Curious."

"What's curious, Your Majesty?"

"These old Alyeid eyes see many things. Everyone in this yard, for instance, radiates an aura of life force. Except for you. I can't tell if you're not truly alive or if you just don't belong."

For just a moment, he remembered. Amelia. Was she possessing him? Or perhaps he was possessing her. In any case, he knew the king was correct. "That's very perceptive. You're right: I don't belong here. But know that I am not here to cause you or any of the Direnni harm."

"Honesty! A redeeming quality. But we'll have to speak of this later when time isn't so short. Right now we have a battle to win."

Relin gave a short bow and headed toward the tent he shared with Alana. He found her sitting on a cot inside the door, tightening the rivets on her boots.

She reached out and took his hand. "I know you wanted to go after Faolchu, but you'll see plenty of action defending the camp."

He knelt next to her and said, "I could go with you."

"I appreciate your concern, my love, but orders are orders. But have no fear; I'll make sure we never have to worry about Faolchu again."

"I know you will. What's your plan?"

Alana chuckled. "He's formidable, but he's just a man. I'll kill him the same way I would any other man: I'll stick my sword into him a few times until he drops. I'll be back in no time, carrying his head as a trophy. I can't think of a better gift to celebrate our new family."

Relin's breath caught in his throat, and his pounded. She couldn't be saying what he thought she was. Not when she was leaving to fight Faolchu. "Our family? Alana, what are you saying?"

"Later, my love. I'll tell you all about it after the battle; no need to distract you now."

"It's too late for that."

She stood up, pulling him up with her and kissing him. "I love you, you know. I'll see you soon."

He held her close, as though it was the last time he would ever do it. They always held each other like that before a battle, saying goodbye, just in case. But this time he knew. Somehow he just _knew_ Faolchu would die and they would celebrate together. With one last brief kiss, she turned and slipped out of the tent.

Relin made his way across camp to where Commander Parmion was rallying the troops. This day would bring victory; he was certain of it. It had already happened. That was why he was here: to find out _how_ it had happened. Because Grahla had said swords couldn't kill him . . .

_Oh, gods, no._ That wasn't right. It couldn't be. Besides, he knew no one named Grahla.

He set out onto the battlefield once more, this time skulking in the shadows, using the magic from his armor to remain hidden, and he managed to take out four Shadow Scouts before he came upon one of his own. Scout Loriel lay dying at the base of a large rock formation.

"Captain," he choked, "Faolchu's headquarters. We were ambushed, surrounded. Alana and the others—" But he wasn't able to finish. The light left his eyes, and he perished.

"Damn it," he growled. He gently closed Loriel's eyes, then turned and headed toward the cave where Faolchu made his base.

Outside the cave, he found unadulterated carnage. At least a dozen bodies, Direnni and Alessian alike, were scattered about the bloody field. Only one was alive, Scout Hanil, who was just sitting up. He knelt next to the elf.

"Hanil, can you move?"

The scout nodded. "We tried, captain, but there were too many. Commander Parmion is dead."

"Commander Parmion? How?"

"He decided to accompany us at the last minute. We thought it would just be Faolchu and his officers, but it was a trap. A whole platoon awaited us. The commander fought bravely, but they cut him down. And captain, they took Alana."

A great weight settled over him as he realized how wrong he had been in the tent. If they had her, he would likely never see his love again. Her comment about their family—he knew what she had meant. She was with child, and he should never have let her go. As if he could _let_ her do anything. Her will was stronger than his own.

He raised his eyes to the heavens and whispered, "Please, bring her back to me."

"I'm afraid there isn't much time," Hanil said, interrupting his thoughts. "We expect Faolchu to launch a full-scale assault at any moment. A few of our men are below, trying to hold them off. There should be enough of us left to defeat them, but we need to rescue Alana as well."

It was an impossible choice. He could go after Faolchu, or he could look for his love. How could he decide that? Why had they taken her in the first place when they had killed everyone else? Faolchu undoubtedly knew Relin's name. Was he making it personal? Did he plan to make him watch while he killed Alana in an attempt to demoralize him? And _would_ it demoralize him or work him into a frenzy?

_Stick to the mission!_

He heard Alana's voice as clearly as if she had been standing next to him. It's what she would say if she were here, and she would be right. With Parmion dead, he was in command now, and he had to think about the mission.

"I'll deal with Faolchu," he said with a sigh. "You see if you can find Alana."

"Very well, captain," said Hanil.

Relin opened the heavy wooden door and stepped inside, where he found a few dead Direnni. He made his way down a long flight of stairs and into the chambers below, fighting Alessians when he came upon them. In a large room in the farthest reaches of the cave, he found the last remnants of the battle. A few soldiers from each side fought amid several small bonfires, and watching from above was a monstrosity.

Standing on the balcony overlooking the fight was a beast made of nothing but teeth, claws, and fur. He was taller than the most towering Alyeid, and his glowing eyes glared balefully at the carnage below. He roared with rage.

A werewolf.

A lifeless body lay at the creature's feet—blonde and beautiful—Alana.

_No! Please, be somebody else._

"Put out those damn fires!" the werewolf bellowed angrily but with the slightest touch of apprehension.

Relin recognized the voice. It was Faolchu himself. He was horrified, but at the same time a grim smile spread across his face because in that instant, he understood how to kill the beast. And killing Alana hadn't demoralized him at all. It had galvanized him. He had nothing left to lose. With that understanding, he charged into the fray, battling alongside the others until no Alessians were left alive.

"Damn you!" Falchou thundered. "I'll kill you myself!" He leapt from the balcony and menaced Relin. "Your puny weapons are no match for my teeth and claws."

Relin didn't answer. He used his swords to block Falchou's advances as best he could, backing slowly up toward one of the bonfires. Just as the werewolf charged full-on, Relin stepped out of the way, and the werewolf dove into the flames.

"_NO!_" he screamed as he shifted. He wasn't so scary now—human, bald, kind of short, and unarmed.

With one hard swing of a sword, Relin laid Faolchu's throat open, and his enemy collapsed to the floor in a pool of blood.

Pain suddenly shot through his body as his armor burst into pieces. One of the shards pierced his heart, and he clutched his chest as he dropped to his knees. The pain ended quickly, though, and he was vaguely aware of his head resting on the stone floor. After that, there was nothing.

"Time for you to go back now," said a soft voice.

* * *

"Oh!" Amelia gasped. With barely time to take a breath, she was back in the present, in her own skin, and the pauldrons were back on the skeleton before her. Her hand went to her chest, which had been so real, agonizingly real, only a moment ago. She had been, for all intents and purposes, Captain Relin, and she had died. She had been dead. _Dead!_ "Gods!" she whispered as she started up the stairs to the surface. She made her way back to camp where Sarvith, Bhagrun, and Grahla waited.

"It worked!" Sarvith cried. "Into the past and back again. Are you all right?"

"I think so. A bit rattled."

"Thank the Divines," said Grahla. "I was afraid we'd lost you. According to legend, when the Nameless Soldier killed Faolchu, the armor shattered. The Nameless Soldier died."

"He's not nameless anymore. His name was Relin. The armor did shatter, but today it was in the crypt, fully intact."

Grahla shrugged. "Another mystery. Direnni magic, perhaps?"

"Or Alyeid. The Alyeid king was at the battle, and he recognized that I was out of place."

"Interesting."

"I found what we were looking for. Fire weakens him and makes him vulnerable."

"Fire!" Grahla echoed. "Of course. The beast can't stand against its purifying flame. Quickly now. We must share our knowledge with Camlorn. The Lion Guard has set up a makeshift fort just outside the city. Find the commanding officer and tell him what we learned. Knowing Faolchu's weakness might make all the difference."

Amelia nodded. "I'm on my way."

"You should rest first."

"No time."

"_Take_ time. At least an hour."

Amelia realized she hadn't slept or eaten since before Gloria Fausta had died at Aldcroft. "Very well, an hour. But don't let me sleep longer than that!"

She dug into her knapsack for some dried meat and cheese, gobbled it down, and found a cot in a nearby tent to curl up on. It was hard to sleep, thinking of Relin and Alana, their baby, and all they had lost that day. He had loved her so deeply, and he had hated himself for letting her go fight Faolchu.

Faolchu. He was wreaking havoc out there somewhere now and she had to stop him, but Grahla was right: she needed rest. Would she pay the ultimate price like Relin and Alana? It was that thought that she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Characters and settings c. 2014 Bethesda Softworks LLC


End file.
